


Following the (Silver) Fox

by Jobooksandcoffee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: All main characters belong to Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC, Also Greg is a bit not good, Domestic Life Isn’t That Bad, Drug Use, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Greg Lestrade is a Good Friend, Happy Ending, Jealousy, John is stubborn, M/M, Meeting the Family, Pining Sherlock, Regretful John, Sherlock BBC Season/Series 03 Fix-it, Slow Burn, They All Remain Friends, Unrequited Love, do not copy to another site, resentful John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jobooksandcoffee/pseuds/Jobooksandcoffee
Summary: After two lonely and painful years away eliminating the threads of Moriarty’s web, Sherlock comes home to find John living with Mary. John is also hurt and resentful, determined to not allow Sherlock to undermine his relationship with his new fiancée. Greg, who always thought Sherlock and John belonged together, becomes a closer friend to Sherlock. He gives the Consulting Detective a place to stay, a friend to have dinner with, someone who will listen to him. He tries to keep all interfering feelings at bay. As Sherlock notices his friendship with Greg becomes stronger, he begins to accept that maybe he can be alright even with John not living at Baker Street any more. He and Lestrade can work at the Yard, and talk about cases. Greg is good at rescuing Sherlock when John and Mary’s wedding preparations get intense. They are friends. This is enough for Sherlock. Right?
Relationships: Greg Lestrade/OMC, Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes and Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 64
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and Welcome lovely readers. This is a Sherstrade story. The tags also say it. Though I am a Johnlocker at heart, they are my OTP, in this story they will not be romantic partners. I completely understand this may not be your cup of tea. My other two stories are Johnlock, if you care to check them out.
> 
> Thank you to my fantastic beta, [ Loveismyrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) who inspired this story by writing a magnificent Greg in her story “Shatter Me.” I asked her for more Greg so many times, that she patiently instructed me to write my own story for Lestrade. In thinking up the story, I thought S3 had many things I would like to change. Here is the result. I can tell you I loved writing it. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> I must express my deep gratitude to the amazing[ arianedevere ](https://arianedevere.livejournal.com) For her priceless episode transcripts. I use them throughout the story.
> 
> This story is complete and is 15 chapters long. I didn’t put in the chapter number because I tend to edit as I post and might end up with a chapter or two more or less.

“Those things will kill you,” said a voice in the darkness.

Greg recognized the voice as that of his dead friend, and looked up having just lit his cigarette, to see Sherlock Holmes standing in front of him.

”Ooh, you bastard!” was the only thing that would come out of his mouth.

“It's time to come back. You’ve been letting things slide Graham.” Sherlock had the damn nerve to smile.

“Greg!!” he snarled.

“Greg.” Sherlock corrected with a small smile.

Astonished, Greg looked at him, this man that had been his friend. At least he considered himself Sherlock’s friend, even though some friend he had been, at the end. Sherlock looked too skinny, his eyes cautious as if he expected a blow. The man was being careful. Greg gave in to his emotions, pulled Sherlock to him, gave him a tight hearty hug, and heard Sherlock’s soft groan. He then took a good look at him, refraining from patting his back, and noticed his nose was swollen and his lip cut. 

“Hey mate, are you hurting? My God, you are alive! I can’t believe you’re here! Where have you been? And what have you been doing? Did you just come back today?” He asked, still shocked, giving Sherlock a once over. 

“Not really. I’ve been under Mycroft’s tender love and care for the two weeks I’ve been back from Serbia. Tonight was my first night in London.” Sherlock answered, not facing Lestrade.

“Shite! Then that was John Watson! Who would have thought that was the greeting he’d give ya.”

“Well, I may have interrupted an occasion. Apparently, he was about to propose.” he said, still not looking at Greg.

“What, that nurse lady? Really? Never liked her. To each their own though.” 

Sherlock looked up with a small, thankful smile. 

“So, seen Mrs H yet?” Greg asked.

“No. I can’t imagine it will be easy for her, I would rather not surprise her at night...”

“I’d say! She grieved you like a mother grieves a child.” Greg saw Sherlock’s shoulders hunch down, and the man looked defeated and done.

“Well even I can’t properly believe it, mate! You have actually come back! By God, Anderson was right, and I’m over the moon, mind you!” Greg said, still staring at the slim apparition in front of him. “Where have you been staying, at Highgate? I could give you a ride,” offered Greg. 

“I don’t particularly want to go to my brother’s if it could at all be avoided. Also, I haven’t eaten since I returned to the city. Take away might be good actually.” Sherlock said, hands in his pockets and eyes firmly at the ground. He wasn’t hungry at all, but his reunion with John could not have been worse, and the fact that he now was living with this new woman made chances of things going back to normal, slim to none. Mrs Hudson would probably be as upset as John had been. Lestrade’s hug had been painful, but truly affectionate. He was the only person who had been actually, genuinely happy to see him. There was Molly, of course, but she had been quick to inform him her fiancee was coming to take her home from work. 

Greg smiled, a bit disappointed with himself for not having asked before, but he’d had a shock, and he hurried to fix it, “Say, would you like to come over to mine? We could pass by a place, or order some grub, since John didn’t feed you after knocking your lights out.”

Sherlock responded, still looking to the ground, “Well, since you do ask so spontaneously.” 

Greg laughed, a loud, happy sound; Sherlock looked up and laughed with him. “Come on then, you prat,” teased Greg, and his smile was wide, as he carefully put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

In his car, Greg made some light conversation about the cases he had solved in Sherlock’s absence and didn’t hold back on letting him know just how much harder he had found things without the Consulting Detective. He sneaked a look and Sherlock was listening, a smile on his face. He even asked about Donovan, and Anderson. Greg told him about the man’s wild theories, of him advancing through Europe solving crimes as he was on his way back to London. Sherlock took a moment to blink at this. 

“I wish that were how things worked out.” And he would say no more.

They got to Lestrade’s flat. It was in a nicer neighborhood and had furniture that matched. Greg noticed Sherlock looking around. “I was reinstated after they found your cases were sound. My boys spent time here while they were in uni. I didn’t want them to be too ashamed to bring their friends over, so yeah.” he said, as he went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. 

Sherlock hung his coat and looked around. Found the sofa and a familiar pillow. It was twin to the one with the British flag at Baker Street. He put it up to his nose. Lestrade still used it to rest his head while he pretended to watch bad telly. He felt an unexpected flare of affection for him.

“You still have this ratty thing?” he asked.

Lestrade poked his head out the kitchen to see, “Ah! Yeah sure, when Tara was in Reception she made me buy them. When Nora and I got divorced, I took one and Tara kept the other one at home. Somehow that one ended up here.” He put a cup of tea in front of Sherlock, loose leaf, sweet with some milk in it.

“The other one might still be at 221b, if Mrs Hudson hasn’t thrown my things out.” Sherlock sighed, taking a sip of the tea, smiling.

“Nah, it’s all there but dustless…” Lestrade said fondly. “She couldn’t throw your stuff out. Mycroft ended up paying her the rent. She took the pillow downstairs though. You loved that old thing, ever since you kipped at my old flat. I kept expecting it to disappear everytime you left.”

“Where would I have taken it? I couldn’t have it in the den or the streets. It would have been taken from me. Safer at your flat, giving you the illusion it was still yours.” He smiled.

“Well you used to scurry away with everything else, food, vests, socks, towels,” Lestrade said as he walked to the door to take the food.

“You left those things out for me! You even said so!” he jeered, nose scrunching.

Lestrade laughed. “I did, ya berk. Now come and eat your rice.”

Sherlock did, to his surprise, noticing it was the Spanish rice he had always liked. He refused Lestrade’s offer of sleeping in his bed. The pull out was comfortable enough. He was careful to stay on his side, enveloped in the comforter. He was surprised to find himself falling asleep. After the day he had, he had expected to lie awake for hours. Instead, he drifted off, the bed warm and soft.

OooOooO

Greg sat up in his bed, heart thumping hard and fast, a sense of terror invading him. He tried to finish waking up, needing a moment to place himself. He took some deep breaths and tried to remember what he had been dreaming about. Then there it was again...a ruffle, a desperate groan, a cry...Sherlock! Greg got out of his bed and went to the living room in a hurry to find Sherlock on the floor, fighting off the comforter that was trapping his right arm and his legs. He was groaning, his breathing way too fast, his face contorted. Greg crouched close to disentangle him from the cover. 

“Sherlock. Sherlock wake up, mate. You’re alright. You’re safe now, back in London.” Greg said in the calmest voice he could manage. Sherlock seemed terrified and was obviously in pain.

“Hey there. Wake up. There you go. You’re back home, in England. You’re with Lestrade, at my place…”

Sherlock had opened his eyes and sat up, looking desperately around, “John! Where is John??”

Greg felt so sad for him. “At his flat, probably sleeping, mate. You are here at mine’s though and you’re safe. You had a bad dream. You’re ok though.” He sat down next to Sherlock, his knees not liking the crouching. 

Sherlock looked up, still confused, his brow still scrunched, his face, almost translucent in the mostly dark flat. “Lestrade? You are actually here?”

“Yes. You stayed over at my flat.” he reminded him.

Sherlock reached out and touched Greg’s chest with two fingers, rubbed the fabric of his cotton vest. Then he looked into Greg’s eyes. “You are real…” he said, his voice full of wonder.

“Ta for that. Real, yeah.” Greg smiled.

“Well, Mind Palace Lestrade always has his ill fitting suit on. More hair too. You cut it too short, Gustav.” Sherlock said.

“Ah, you prick. Have half a mind to send Mind Palace Lestrade to make you a Mind Palace cuppa!” He said. “Are you hurting Sherlock? You seem like you could use some paracetamol.”

“Perhaps I can. But can you...stay a while. Things are still...fuzzy. You are real though?” Sherlock did in truth look confused. 

Greg reached out and put his hand at the bottom of Sherlock’s neck, cupping it, thumb gently touching his curls. “Yeah, real. I’m here, mate. I got you.”

Sherlock’s hand went to the bottom of Greg’s vest, grabbed the edge of it and held on.

The next morning, as Greg painfully straightened up from his horrid sitting position on the side of the pullout, he knew by the stillness Sherlock had left. 

OooOooO

“... _just saying, if you are so worried why don’t you come over?...Of course I’m already here, he’s my friend…oh don’t you dare wave your money at me! I’m doing it for him. Not for you! And don’t you dare re-assign my cases to other people again, Mycroft!”_

“Oh, thank goodness, Greg! He’s in but he’s not moving, not eating, not responding. I didn’t know what to do! My first instinct was to call John, but I’m afraid that John might actually be a part of his problem, if not the whole problem,” Mrs Hudson worried.

“Yeah, they had a scare last night. It seems like someone took John and put him in the Guy Fawkes Fire at some church. He’s getting checked out in hospital, his girlfriend is with him.” said Greg, wishing he could get past her.

“Oh, that is why she was here yesterday, pushing me out of the way to get to him! Go, go child.” Mrs Hudson actually gave him a little push. “I’ll be up with supper later!” She cooed. 

OooOooO

“Getoutgetoutgetout, Greg!” bellowed Sherlock.

Greg smiled. “Aww you got my name right! I’m flattered,” he said going to the kitchen, getting a glass of water and also wetting a flannel. 

“Go away and tell my brother I am fine. All is well peachy dory! That’s what he pays you for!”

“Hey! I have yet to take a pound from your stuffed up brother! Bad enough he has his nose in everything!” He came closer to Sherlock’s form on the sofa. “...he did tell me John left the hospital on his own devices. Mary took him home.”

“Hmmphhh” and a hunch of shoulders was all the response that he got. Apparently Sherlock had suffered from the separation as much as Watson had. Too bad he couldn’t have come back six months earlier. 

“Sit up and have this water before I throw it at you. I get that you're frustrated, but you really shouldn’t scare Mrs H. Did _she_ slap you that first time she saw you?” Greg asked as he handed him the glass water Sherlock reluctantly sat up to take.

“She screamed like a banshee and scolded me all day long. Then she compounded my injuries by hugging on to me.” Sherlock said after downing the water in two thirsty gulps.

Greg cringed. “I must’ve hurt you too, hugging you as I did. Didn’t even think. Sorry mate. How is your back feeling?” 

“Fine if I don’t lay on it. Stings a bit though,” confessed Sherlock. 

“Want me to take a look? I’m sure Mrs H has some ointment or something.”

“If you would, could you find me a vest? This one is uncomfortable. I believe Mycroft had his people bring my things from storage and replace them.”

So Greg went to the bedroom and found the older finer t-shirts that Sherlock preferred, and turned one inside out. He went to the toilet and found a tube of Savlon and one of Brulidine.

“Not one word about it Lestrade, or I promise I will kick you out and you will not see me again.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself! I’m a father of three, both boys played rugby first, then took on wrestling. Tara did free form dirt bikes and scraped her elbow and knees bloody all the time. Good luck trying to compete.” answered Lestrade.

When Sherlock turned around, however, Greg was not prepared for the bloody mess under the vest. He had to brace himself, invoke his poker face. 

“Some of them reopened, they’re bleeding a bit. Don’t pull off the vest. Let me help you.” He was happy that his voice sounded normal. He moistened the area with the mildly wet flannel until the shirt unstuck, then he let the skin dry and applied the lotion where it was needed, using firm strokes, remembering how Sherlock reacted to touch from when he had been in his teens. There had been a number of clean ups needed way before there was a doctor to perform them.

The vest off, there were angry red scars all over Sherlock’s back. The pain, and the loneliness drawn in those awful lines, the deep bruising hurt Greg’s heart. Keeping his breath steady was harder than he thought it would be. Good thing Sherlock couldn’t see his face. He applied a couple of plasters to prevent the cuts that were bleeding lightly from sticking to clothes, smoothed some salve on the others marks, and helped Sherlock get dressed in clean clothes. When he finished, Sherlock raised his narrowed eyes and studied his face. 

Satisfied, he gave a little nod and casually said moving his hand as if sweeping away his words, “Your company, in your flat the other night was, adequate. I wouldn’t be opposed if you wanted to stay. You could sleep in my bed. I sleep here,” he said, his face indifferent.

Greg thought about it. However oddly put, Sherlock had just asked him to stay. That was a first. Greg looked through his messages and there was nothing he couldn’t take care of by phone. His only response was “OK”, but he didn’t sleep in Sherlock’s bed. Instead he huddled in “John’s” chair, and if the genius rolled his eyes at that, he never minded. They both slept badly, Greg helped Sherlock wake up from his nightmares. The man couldn’t have rested much. He really shouldn’t be alone. 

So he did the best he could, and the following week had a tense conversation with John at the pub. The doctor had been very defensive. Gone were the declarations of Sherlock being his “best friend”. He would not talk about how distraught he had been and he did not want to talk with Sherlock about the man’s time away. When Lestrade suggested that after two years working to finish Moriarty’s web, Sherlock might actually need him, John had clearly been upset. “He left me here thinking I didn't do enough to stop him from jumping! I was grieving while he spent years traveling around the world having adventures at Mycroft’s expense! If he didn’t need me then, he can well do without me now! I have a life, Greg. A new job, a new place and a fiancee who doesn’t make me believe she is something she’s not! Sherlock can’t seriously think things are going to be what they were before. He needs to grow up.” Then he had banged his pint on the table, put down money for the bill and left. 

OooOooO

So Greg spent time with Sherlock, when the consulting Detective was not on a case with John. The two of them were working cases again, after stopping a bomb from blowing up the Parliament, and for a while, the detective shined again, although briefly, as he worked with his partner. Never called John by the wrong name, as he had poor Molly. No wonder the girl had never come to cases again. When Sherlock was with John, no one else existed. No response to comments from anyone else. Greg understood.

When John disappeared into his work and the excitement of his upcoming wedding, things were different. Sherlock would come around the Yard, to look for cold cases or do his paperwork, as long as he could be in the same room with Greg, so he could complain to him about said paperwork, or about Donovan, or the stupidity of the witnesses. Sherlock would also be curious about what Greg was doing, standing behind him and looking over his shoulder to direct his search or comment on the information. 

Once when he left after a text from a witness to a case of a suspected homicide, Donovan sat in the seat across the desk from Greg. “How can you take it, guv? Does he ever stop talking? Or looming over you? The F…. um, the man truly has no idea about personal space! Doesn’t it bother you? He never spent so much time here before! It’s because Watson is getting married, isn’t it?”

“Well Sally, not that it really is any business of ours, but I think he missed his people when he was away fighting Moriarty’s associates. I for one, prefer to have him here, where he can feel appreciated, to having him alone at Baker Street or in the streets pining after...well, the past.” said Lestrade.

Donovan stayed quiet, while she gave her boss a careful once over. When Lestrade was leaving for home, after a long day of meetings and a consultation with a rather new inspector about how to maintain professionalism with different types of people, he got a text.

*-Your place or mine? Either way I would like Sushi for dinner. Maybe a documentary, or that game we played the other night. Should I bring pudding or wine? SH

Greg laughed. Sherlock definitely needed an instruction manual for friendship. No wonder John ended up so confused. He smiled. Sherlock had always been this awkward. Greg had never minded.

-“I’ll order the Sushi—yes from the place you like. Bring the pudding.” answered Greg, thinking it would help Sherlock eat more, he was still quite underweight.

These dinners or lunches happened various times a week. Lestrade had to admit, he liked spending time with Sherlock. He liked listening to the man talk; about the cases, about the chemical composition of various homemade poisons, about the nature and caring of bees. He liked the way Sherlock lit up. It showcased Sherlock’s deep curiosity, his interest in the workings of the world. 

Sherlock had changed in many ways. He was a good listener, now. He didn’t seem to mind hearing Greg talk about his kids, in fact he would ask about them by name, having met them a couple of times, long ago. He even listened when Greg described the cases they actually solved without him, though of course Sherlock had to add his comments, usually criticism, but also praise at times, and when the praise was directed at Greg personally, well it felt good. To impress a genius like that. 

Once, while they were sitting on a park bench, drinking coffee, having one of their conversations, Sherlock had slowly begun sharing what he had been doing while he was away. They had been talking about the first time he had been captured, and ‘interrogated,” when suddenly, a red rubber ball stopped between their shoes. A black labrador puppy appeared shortly after, all wagging tail and happy smile and sniffing and letting himself be petted. Sherlock’s face lit up as he pet the dog and rubbed it behind the ears, speaking to it affectionately. Greg had always known Sherlock was attractive, he’d heard people comment throughout the years, and well, he had eyes. Now, Greg saw him away from his beloved work, and without the walls he usually held up. His smile, his body, the man could easily be a model, or an actor he looked that good. When Sherlock turned his eyes and happy smile towards Greg, well it was a bit breathtaking. The puppy’s owner, a young lady, curly hair up in a puff, jogging clothes came running towards them, apologetic, “Blaze! Oh don’t lick the nice man! So sorry! He gave me the slip as I looked for an address.” She said to Greg while Sherlock ignored her for teasing Blaze with the ball.

“Aww, it looks like you two could use a dog like him, he’s quite cuddly and gentle for all of his size. Active too, but that’s a good thing, I think.” She and Greg exchanged smiles and some pleasantries about life with dogs. “Come on Blaze, let’s move on. Say goodbye to the nice couple. Thank you!” She waved her hand as they left. Sherlock, however, had turned to stone next to him. Lestrade looked at him, alarmed. 

“Something up, mate?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, Greg. I don’t know what made her say that.”

“Say what?”

“She said we were a couple.” muttered Sherlock, playing with his fingers and not looking up.

Ah! The poor bloke must have been thinking Greg was about to pull a Watson—“I’m not gay!” However, Greg just laughed. “She probably saw how close we were sitting to play with the dog. Your hand was on my leg there for a minute.” Greg responded. 

“It was? When?” Sherlock asked, nose scrunched.

“When you reached under the bench to catch the ball. She and I were chatting, but you only thought of the dog. Anyway, no harm done.” Greg reassured him.

If there were some more little instances like that, little touches from Sherlock, a hand on his shoulder at the computer desk, or on his arm while talking, or if Greg put his hand on Sherlock’s back to ground him, or moved closer to him on the sofa or a bench, they barely noticed. They were friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How will Sherlock deal with John’s absence? John certainly has a different idea of what being a friend entails. Can Sherlock cope with it? Also, how can Greg help him? All coming up in the next chapter. I plan to post every Wednesday.
> 
> * My way of showing a text, as in  
> -Your place or mine? SH


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the preparations for John and Mary’s wedding start, Sherlock is beginning to see the value of Greg’s friendship. There is someone to call when he can’t (or prefers not to) call John, someone to go over the tedious details of the endless nerves, and fittings and venue searching. Also there is someone with whom he can take his mind off everything. Maybe enjoy some Classical music with. Someone who wants to be with him, just because they enjoy each other’s company. The situation is—nice. Useful even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always my gratitude and a shout out to my marvelous Beta, [ Loveismyrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) because she kindly reminds me to get on with the writing and inspired this story with her own excellent “Shatter Me.”
> 
> This is a Sherstrade story with a happy ending. It is complete, the ending is written. I do tend to edit before I even after my ever-patient Beta has corrected my errors. Any errors appearing here, therefore, are of my own making. Updates every Wednesday. Hope you enjoy.

On Greg’s phone

-Greg SH

-... … ( _Sherlock’s number)_

Five minutes later 

-... … ( _Sherlock’s number)_

He waited, gave him ten minutes until he finished a call to text him.

Nothing.

-Hey Sherlock everything alright?

-No. SH

-Are _you_ ok?

-No. SH

-Are you at Baker Street?

-Yes. SH

-I’m on my way. It will take awhile with the traffic.

No more texts, no answers; so Greg decided to speed up and turn the siren on.

Mrs Hudson took her time coming to the door. She had her headphones around her neck and had been vacuuming. She knew nothing about Sherlock, so Greg went upstairs. The door was open and the flat was dark. He turned the light on. Heard a hiss. Turned it back off. Sherlock was on the sofa, curled up as tight as he could, his hands on his head. Greg approached carefully and crouched down next to the head side. 

“Hey...what’s going on Sherlock? How can I…”

Sherlock grouped around one armed, until he grabbed Lestrade’s arm, then hand. Sherlock placed Greg’s hand on his head.

“Oh headache. Shit.” Greg said. He had known Sherlock enough to remember his headaches could be bad. He had learned that Sherlock rarely wanted any pills, saying they didn’t work well for him. Greg walked to the bedroom and found the black out curtains, blocking what little light remained of the day. Going with what had worked for his children when they’d been ill, he prepared the bed, setting up the pillows, and wet some flannels, fetched the ice bag out of the freezer and went back to Sherlock.

“Sherlock, come, let’s get you in bed so you can stretch proper. I’ll help you. Slowly, mate.” It took Sherlock a while to get himself up. His face was a tight grimace and his hands were shaking.

They slowly made their way to the bedroom, but Sherlock’s breath was coming too fast, he pulled Greg further towards the toilet, and barely made it before being violently sick. He folded down next to the toilet. Greg was there to help him up and make him rinse his mouth. Then he half carried him to bed, and placed the wet flannels around his neck and the ice pack at the base of his cranium. He wet the last one in the coldest water he could and wrung it out to place on his forehead. At this, Sherlock let out a groan, and his hand reached out in the dark. Greg took it 

“Is this any better?” he whispered.

“Yes. ” Sherlock whispered back and squeezed Greg’s hand. “Stay?”

Greg had a new guy on a case and really should be close by. He made the decision to ask Donovan. She texted him back that she was on her way to the noobie. 

“Ok, I’m staying.” He worked on his phone for a while, then as Sherlock fell asleep went out to use Sherlock’s computer. Mrs Hudson came by to eat supper with Greg. She let him know John had been around and said hello to her. He had wanted to talk with Sherlock about the wedding. When Mrs H left, there was tea and cake for Sherlock. 

He found him waking up and shivering, “Oh no, mate so sorry! Mrs H distracted me! Let me get these off of you.” Took the wet towels off, replaced the wet pillow. Then he went to bring the tea. Sherlock’s hands were trembling as he drank his tea and ate his cake.

“The pain any better?” Greg asked, the man still looked pale.

“Lessened a bit. I think the ice helped.” he said, finishing up the cake.

Greg sat on the bed next to him. “Can I tell you about the noobie, Frank?” He talked for a while, as they sat next to each other. Eventually, he quieted, thinking Sherlock had fallen asleep again. “Are you staying? You should take off your shoes.” said Sherlock, and Greg did. Took off his jacket and stayed in his vest. 

“John came over earlier. He asked me to be his best man.” Sherlock said in a not quite steady voice.

‘Oh that idiot! What in hell is wrong with him!’ Greg thought to himself. Making Sherlock best man for his wedding was just cruel.

“...honoured, but they need help with the wedding and I’m not sure I can do that.” Sherlock was saying, in a despondent, sad voice. “I can’t help feeling I’ve lost a friend. I feel it would have been better to stay away from England, than to have to see John choose a life he always called safe and boring, rather than come back to me.”

Greg wondered if Sherlock had any idea just how transparent he was, “Sherlock, I get it has to be hard to come back and find everything arse over tit. I can’t imagine how you must have felt, thinking about home for so long and when you finally come back, people are mad at you or moving on. One thing I want you to remember. You do have more than one friend. You told me yourself there were snipers on Mrs Hudson and on my lovely person. Mrs Hudson came back to life when you returned. She wasn’t doing well when she thought she had lost you. How could you have stayed away, when she was turning into a boring old lady without you? I know I’m happy to have you back to make my life three times busier than it was! We’ve had some nice times already and there could be more to come. Yes, John found somebody and is getting married. He still works cases with you, they come by to visit, and you will be helping them plan the wedding. It’s not the end, Sherlock. John considers you his best friend. I also think you are a particularly good friend to have, so I’ll tell you what. If the wedding thing gets too heavy for you to handle alone, gimme a call, and if I can, I’ll join in. How about that?”

He found Sherlock staring at him. “We are, in fact, friends now?” he asked.

“You berk, we’ve been friends for years. Just you were being closer to John. Now, you can be close to both of us. See? Not all that bad.” said Lestrade, trying to cheer him up. They sat in companionable silence for a bit too long, and when Greg turned to look at Sherlock, he had sunk in the bed and his eyes were closing. Greg was about to move, to go prepare the sofa, when Sherlock reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Stay here. Plenty of space.”

Greg saw no harm in it. He was already staying and they were friends. He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth with a brand new brush, took off his trousers, and went into the bed, which smelled fresh and was so much more comfortable than the old sofa. Sherlock was right, plenty of space there. He didn’t sleep immediately. He thought about John. The doctor was making a big mistake. Even if the “not gay” thing were true, Greg had firmly believed John and Sherlock belonged together. Mary? Really? She seemed nice-ish, but compared to Sherlock she was inevitably boring. Who could compare to the genius, with his extensive knowledge about everything, his powers of deduction, his acerbic humour, his adventurous life? And Sherlock was funny, and endearing and looked like a model, look at those curls and… Sherlock turned around in his sleep. His nose scrunched, maybe still in some pain. He wondered how the hair would look in the morning. Fell asleep thinking about that. 

Greg felt so happy while waking up. Oh, his bed was soft and cozy and smelled like exotic fruit. Also, some parts of him were more awake than others, a nice long shower would be just the thing. He stretched, and heard a complaint, as the weight he hadn’t noticed replaced itself on his chest, a hand on his vest kept him in place. It was hard to see in the darkened room as Greg’s mind came fully awake. He was in Sherlock’s room, in the bed, with Himself in the flesh sleeping with his arm and leg on Greg’s body. Sherlock’s hair smelled fruity. Not sweet like strawberries, or citrusy. This was a luxurious, extravagant smell, much like the man himself. Sherlock literally had a leg on his leg, an arm on his chest and his other arm tucked between their two bodies . Sherlock looked so young this way, almost like the boy he had met some fifteen years ago. Back then he had been ethereal, so trusting, so sarcastic and lost. The man was weathered, kinder, a survivor, a friend. He had come back to London with some definite changes in place.

Other things were the same, like how attractive Sherlock was. Goodness some friend he was, contemplating his mate’s hair, and the length of his fingers, and the smell of him all around Greg. He had to slip away and take care of the raging stiffy that was by now pointing to Sherlock’s trapped arm. Greg carefully peeled Sherlock’s hand off his vest, and sat up enough so he could move the leg. The man was pure wiry muscle, the skin of his chest and belly porcelain still. Reluctantly, he got up, taking one last fond look at his friend, and a bit later desperately thinking of everyone, anyone else to bring himself off. 

OooOooO

-Why in tarnation do I have to include a “table decoration” fee? The idiot here says they decorate the tables down to the “folded napkins”. Do they perform origami with them? Because I will do it better than they! SH

Greg sighed. He had known Sherlock would take him literally, but now he was a party to every single detail of the wedding preparation procedures. The texts were constant, though he was grateful that when they actually got together, mostly dinner now, mostly late night and at Greg’s place, Sherlock talked about anything but the preparations. 

OooOooO

-Lestrade, tell me your lackey was right and you are in Clapham. SH

-Hello to you, too sunshine! Where have you been?

-In wedding dress hell. Mary has horrid taste and wants dresses that make her look like a giant tuna. John is no help at all, looking like a collared dog all the time. SH

-That bad huh?

-Worse. I’m done. I can’t possibly take this anymore today. Come and get me out of here before I tell Mary what I think about her in any of these dresses that cost more than John makes in a year. SH

-I’m supposed to be going straight to court to oversee some proceedings with a couple of new officers. You would have to come with me and behave. I’ll say you’ve been called as a witness.

-Whatever, just come get me out. SH

So Greg arrived in his official car, and his suit (ill fitting suit, the genius had said). As he entered the store John saw him, smiling instantly “Hi there Greg! What brings you here? New case?” he smiled hopefully.

“Hey mate! Big day getting closer?” Greg smiled back “No new case, sorry. I came for Himself, need him to come to the courts with me. Where is he?”

So John pointed to Sherlock, who was standing behind Mary, pulling at the fabric around her waist and talking with her, as his legs did that nervous dance they did whenever he had to listen to something boring. Sherlock saw him in the mirror and he let a breath out, his shoulders relaxed and his legs stilled. He said something to Mary, who turned around, annoyed.

Sherlock walked hurriedly towards Greg. “Let’s go Gavin.”

John muttered, “You guys are not leaving me alone here, come on!”

“Um, this isn’t a case you were on, mate. Sorry, but can’t get you into court. Next case, alright?” Greg answered.

Mary came hurrying over in a robe “Oh no no no, Inspector! You can’t take Sherlock now! We have other boutiques to go to! I have to pick my gown today!”

“Hello Mary. Sorry to intrude on such an important decision, but Sherlock here has to come with me. Unfortunately, it will probably be a long while til we are done. The Groom will have to step up!” Greg said, clapping John on the shoulder. John looked at him with the eyes of a kicked puppy. “You two have fun! Come on, Your Majesty.”

OooOooO

“Thank you Greg. I think it is not too much to say I believe you have saved if not my life, my sanity. I can not understand the thought process of a woman about to get married. Everything is of heightened importance and everything must be done as she says. Really! How can John tolerate this? I am thankful I will never have that problem!” Sherlock rubbed his temples, toed his shoes off and stretched his legs, moving the seat back and reclining.

“That bad, huh?” Greg asked, smiling affectionately.

“You have no idea! Her indecision alone is nerve wracking! Why couldn’t she make up her mind? And has she ever looked in the mirror to see what could look good on her? Insisted on the tuna dresses. She is middle aged, not a teenager playing mermaid for goodness sake!!”

“You’re wound up. Need some food, or tea or something? I wasn’t lying when I said this could take long. Want me to drop you off at the tube station?”

Sherlock thought about it. “No I’ll be fine. If I go home, they’ll just find me there. I’ll go with you.”

“Ok, but the DA is a hardass. Don’t talk, don’t contradict me in front of my guys, or seriously I will not rescue you anymore.”

“I’ll be on my best behaviour mummy.” Sherlock replied with a smile.

Sherlock had to admit that being in court observing Lestrade go through procedures was a lot less boring than listening to Mary going on and on about her ideal dress, her ideal house, her ideal honeymoon. 

He followed Lestrade to a room, not the courtroom. His two new guys were already there as was the district attorney, all ready for the meeting. Greg excused himself and introduced Sherlock, who had helped with some aspects of the case that justified, barely, why he was there. True to his word, Sherlock remained quiet, even though the young men made some obvious mistakes presenting the evidence to the DA. Lestrade didn’t need the help though. Sherlock was pleased to see him act decisively, speak clearly and explain things for both parts until everyone could be on the same page. Sherlock saw how working outside standard procedure slowed things down, and couldn’t imagine how many hours Greg had spent tied up in negotiations because of his need to flee the scene when he was done with the action part of the case.

OooOooO

“Well, what did you think? Aside from it being “Boring!” Greg asked, rolling his eyes in perfect Sherlock imitation. 

“Quite frankly, I was impressed.” Sherlock said.

“Oh yeah? I guess the boys did a good job, considering they are both first years.” responded Lestrade.

“I meant I was impressed by you. You were commanding and very knowledgeable about the situation and you silenced the DA when he started talking out of his arse.” Sherlock said as he looked directly ahead.

Greg couldn’t contain a smile, “I aim to please.” he said. Sherlock turned to look at him, surprised, and they both burst out giggling. 

“Now I’m really hungry. Take away?” Greg asked.

“No. Angelo’s” Sherlock decided. “Have you ever?”

“Yeah actually. Once with Molly and some other times with some friends... from work.” Greg answered.

“Molly? Oh yes, you and her had a thing.”

“It wasn’t a thing, we went out for dinner a couple of times. Not a thing.” Greg parked the car.

“Yes a thing, as in you wanted her. Christmas, The Black Dress.” Sherlock smirked.

“Well maybe. That dress was something. But there was nothing there. Molly, she’s a sweetheart but I like people a bit...”

“Livelier? Bolder?”

“I don’t know Sherlock, maybe just people less infatuated with you.”

OooOooO

The men went into the restaurant and Angelo fussed about Sherlock, as always, then, without missing a beat, he hugged Lestrade and greeted him warmly.

“Inspetor! Good to see you! Come in, come in! Some Fritto Misto to start with?” He took them to a table and added the complementary candle, lit it. Neither man said a thing. They ate the appetizer. Greg had the Bucatini with Lemony Carbonara and Sherlock the Lasagna. Greg suggested Sherlock taste his pasta, and Sherlock had to admit it was good. Greg had no qualms about tasting Sherlock’s lasagna a couple of times.

Sherlock admired the easy companionship he had developed with this man. Looking back, he had really been his friend for a long time. Now, they were closer. They had conversations about their work and Lestrade’s family. They went to dinner and to each other’s flat. Lestrade listened to Sherlock share every detail of John’s wedding preparations, and he purposefully stepped back when John came to the crime scenes. This was being friends. Greg had said, correctly so, that Sherlock had been closer to John. John was his best friend, who was getting married. They had a friendship. Even if John had moved out, they still worked cases, they still talked and texted and laughed together, and at the end of the day, John went back to his fiancee. Sherlock sometimes looked for Greg, after parting ways with John. Friends. It felt good.

“...him! Even Donovan said ‘I’m suddenly wondering how Phillip is doing!” Greg said and smiled. Sherlock thought it was a nice smile, eyes luminous and smile wrinkles making his pleasant face look handsome. He noted Lestrade was letting his hair grow out, and he found he liked that. The silver hair complemented his eyes. 

“Who’s Philip?” Sherlock asked to make him laugh, and he did. 

OooOooO

A couple of weeks went by. Greg had cases, boring cases that even mere mortals like him could solve. No need for geniuses to solve petty thefts, or even grand thefts, parental disputes, insurance frauds. Not really anything to entice a Consulting Detective. 

Not that the priss would have come, happily solving private cases with John, running about London, solving flashy cases about abducted zoo animals for goodness sakes! The texts they interchanged at night, likely when John had left, were short and about the cases. Greg was left feeling like a tit to ever having thought he was needed. His bad mood took him through the day, barking out commands and giving Frank a verbal lashing. Donovan brought him some tea, “Take it easy on the lad, Guv.”

Then, once the paperwork was taken care of and he finally was about to leave, who came strutting in as if he owned the place? Himself in the flesh. Looking gorgeous. Looking for him. And why would that make his heart pick up speed as if he had run up some stairs? Nope. Not allowed.

“Evening Greg.” His timid smile said more than his words.

“Do I know you? You’re going to have to come back during business hours, I’m going home.” He made a show of closing things up.

“A pity, I was going to take Greg to a concert at St Martin’s but if he’s not available…”

“Really? Weeks of no show, now a concert?”

“I was working. You were on cases. You didn’t come around to mine either, Greg. If anything, we’ve both been amiss.”

Greg took a good look at the man in front of him. He had not just come from working a case. He looked perfect, so he had been home, showered, done some curl control, and gotten ready. 

“When is this concert?” Greg wanted to know.

“In two hours. There’s time for you to grab a bite.”

He decided to give in. He had missed the berk; “Am I pretty enough for it?” he asked and Sherlock’s face lit up. He laughed a little.

“As a princess. Come on, let’s go.”

They had an excellent time—Greg flaunting his knowledge of classical music a bit; his father having been a great fan, and submitting the family to weekly ‘Sunday all classical, all day’ concerts at home. Greg had grown to love it. Sherlock was impressed. 

“It is refreshing to talk with someone that can recognise Shostakovich and Mendelsson for a change. Maybe next time you are over at Baker Street I could play for you.” Sherlock said, looking at Greg watch the musicians, with a happy smile on his face and moving his hand along with the conductor.

“I went with a girl who plays the cello you know, when I was in academy. She didn’t want to be a policeman’s wife, so we parted as friends. She plays with the Birmington Symphony Orchestra these days. Usually sends me tickets for New Years. Excellent player.” said Greg, still looking at the orchestra.

“I believe I can do a decent job,” said Sherlock.

“I’ve heard you play, don’t you remember? You were a teenager the first time,” Greg turned to see the blue grey eyes staring at him.

“Oh, I can do much better now…” Now Sherlock was looking at the musicians. “...at most everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, more wedding preparations as the big day approaches. Some oscillation on the pavement—or how to dance the waltz. Does Sherlock really have to fold all those napkins? A visit to Molly, and the hardest thing that Sherlock has ever had to do, hits Greg hard also.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men are going through a lot in this chapter. There is wedding cake, and also oscillation on the pavement, and some waltz. There is an afternoon together in the park. A visit to Molly’s lab...and the Best Man’s speech. Sherlock thinks he needs a bit of help with funny stories. Greg has other ideas. Sherlock is coming to think of Greg as someone he can count on, to listen to him, to advise him and to accept him as he is. He is pleased to admit Greg is a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my everpatient and kind and superb Beta [ Loveismyrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) who continues to correct my various issues, and overlook the fact that I continue to edit, even after she is done with fixes, as inspiration tends to strike once the draft is about to be posted. Sorry hun.

Things had been...better than he had expected at first. John did come with him on some cases and some he did solo. Those he would text Lestrade about most of the time, and Greg would text him almost everyday with an interesting aspect of a crime, juicy details about criminal procedures or gossip about the people in the yard or in his family. Sherlock kept him informed about the wedding preparations. On one occasion he had called him over again, so Greg could participate in the tasting of wedding cakes, since in Sherlock’s opinion, it was the only thing about the preparations that could be enjoyed. John had been surprised at seeing him arrive.

Mary had commented; “Here comes the Yard to whisk you away again, when you promised to help.” 

Sherlock had responded, as Greg shook hands with John, “Now Mary, I will need a ride home, Lestrade was in the area..,” which had not been true, “...so I thought we could share some of the fun with him,” reasoned Sherlock with a small smile as he looked at Greg.

John eyed them suspiciously, but in all, the cake eating had been satisfying, with John and Greg falling into their familiar banter, and Sherlock happily leaving the love birds behind, to ride in Lestrade’s car.

OooOooO

Tonight Sherlock was pacing outside Lestrade’s flat, uncertain about what to do. He wanted to talk something over with him, but was hesitant to bring it up. He made up his mind to go back home, but after a couple of steps turned around again. Finally, the door opened, and Greg came out in his pajamas.

“Hey! Oh, it’s you! What’s up? My neighbor came to my door to report a lurker. Why won’t you just come in?” he asked, walking towards him, and guiding him in, hand on his back. 

Once they were inside, tea made, Greg asked, “OK now, spill. What’s up?.”

“Lestrade there is a situation. You have — friends and I need to consult something with you. It might be of a rather delicate nature.” Sherlock admitted.

Greg hunched up his shoulders, “Alright, let’s have it.”

“John has asked me to teach him how to dance,” he explained.

“Dance the waltz?”

“Obviously, it’s a wedding, he can’t well break into the Macarena!” said Sherlock, a bit flustered.

“Well, then, just go for it. We don’t want the doctor embarrassing himself at his own wedding.” At Sherlock’s downward eyes and nervous hands, he asked, “What about this is making you second guess it? Sucky teacher?”

Sherlock's jaw dropped, his brow scrunched and his eyes looked opened wide. He had to catch his breath to say “Excuse me? I am an excellent teacher! It’s just … a rather intimate dance. You know John, the first thing out if his mouth would be ‘I’m not gay’ and it would interfere with his learning.” Sherlock said, moving his hands and arms.

Greg had been fooling around with his phone and now put a waltz on. He got up and took the lead position, pulling Sherlock hard towards his body, securing him with a hand tight on his lower back and started dancing, as the genius had a little blinking fit.

“Well, it would definitely be intimate if you danced like this.” Greg said into Sherlock’s ear, Greg’s cheek pressed to his, as he took Sherlock around the living room floor, stuck to his body. Once they completed two circles, Lestrade loosened his grasp on him, twirled him and stood back.

“Now if you try it like this...” he instructed, as he still held Sherlock’s back, but their hips were not mashed together. “You can teach him and still let him preserve his fragile sexual orientation.”

Sherlock laughed. Greg danced well. They danced a couple more numbers on the playlist. If only he felt as sure about dancing with John. He would have to be the lead, at least at the beginning. Greg was right, as good as it had felt to dance closer to his body, that would be unwise with John. 

It was a simple solution to his original dilemma of how to help John without risking any...misunderstandings. John had made his choices, forcing Sherlock into creating his own visions for his life without John living at Baker Street again, ever. As he and Greg sat down flushed and laughing from dancing around the flat, he in work suit and Greg in pajamas, Sherlock recognized that the full of that vision would have been devastating, had Greg not become a closer friend.

Now, even with John being married, living away, Sherlock would not be completely alone. He had an accomplice who had proven he would come to rescue him, support him and laugh with him. And that felt good. The dancing had felt very good. The shock of Greg pulling him harshly and pinning him to his body had been akin to a bolt of lightning, Sherlock registering a flash of unexpected heat he refused to acknowledge. He was still not thinking about it when in the middle of the night, he woke up so painfully hard, he had to take himself in hand, his usual inspiration far from his mind for a change.

OooOooO

-Hey, you at Baker Street? Just got off a case. Need a beer. You got any?

-Yes. Do come in. I’m about out of my mind. SH

So, ten minutes later Greg went in to find Sherlock despondently trying to fold napkins into — igloos? He went straight to the refrigerator and found his beer.

“You want one?” he asked, but Sherlock just waved it away.

“What the high hell are you doing, mate?” he asked as he sat in the leather chair next to where Sherlock was on the floor. 

“I don’t even know anymore, Greg. Why must I fold these napkins into shapes anyway? Won’t people just use them to wipe their noses and mouths? I can’t imagine making all of them into — this!” He showed Greg the igloo.

“Sherlock, I don’t see why you would have to. You are doing plenty for them already! And weren’t you and John on a case?”

“Yes, it’s over. We finally caught the culprit, even though he almost caught us first and quite frankly, rarely have I seen a person so full of resentment and rage, even though in size, he was diminute. It really scared me.”

“Enough for you to decide to spend your afternoon with napkins?” smiled Lestrade.

“Ugh! This is for Mary. She  _ must _ have napkins folded to look like the concert hall. I don’t know what John sees in her, Greg. She micromanages his time, and makes fun of him, she decides when John needs a case or not and what she says is what goes. Mary insists on an ever expanding list of guests, none of which even like her.” complained Sherlock, though without his usual strength.

Greg stood up and slapped his leg, “You know what? Enough! It’s beautiful out there, and you are in no condition of being in close proximity to all this cheap cloth for any longer! Let John Watson fold his own damn napkins, and make his bride chip in! We are going out. First though, let’s put these back in the box.”

“Mary will just get mad.” Sherlock commented, though he did not stop Greg from throwing the napkins back in the box.

“Good thing she is not our problem, then!” said Greg, pulling on Sherlock’s hand and taking him out. The napkins were left unfolded.

Soon they were walking around the park with some delicious ice cream cones, Sherlock with something lemon and Greg picked “the flavour of the week”. It was delicious. Passion fruit was bringing him a good memory of some kind, something small. Something associated with the genius next to him. His curls were getting in his face. Oh, the fruity scent from Sherlock’s hair was passion fruit. And he loved it. 

Wait...loved it? Nope. Down boy!’ He thought as he found himself liking the way Sherlock’s curls lost their battle with the wind and waved around. He also liked the fact that the man’s face was now interested and engaged, wrinkling up in smiles, instead of the sad, lost look he had sported at 221B. Any friend could admire that? Certainly, a friend would want the other to be happy. However, no matter what this confused ‘feeling’ was, it had to stop. Even if Sherlock went for any kind of uhm, association, and Greg had long thought Sherlock was mostly asexual, the genius had no interest in anybody not named John Watson.

OooOooO

Late in the afternoon, they went to Barts, Molly having texted them both about a body, an older single lady, whom she suspected might have been poisoned.

While Sherlock went directly to examine the body, Greg went to the lab and greeted Molly, who was looking a bit flustered. She was still wearing her engagement ring, so things seemed to be alright, even though she was not meeting his eyes. He heard another voice and moved towards it

“...assure you it will be no problem.” said a masculine voice on the phone. Once the call had ended, Molly went to them, “This is Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Inspector, this is Ben Allen, my new lab assistant.” 

The young man did a double take when he saw Greg, who now understood why Molly was wary. The assistant stood up to shake his hand and blatantly check Greg out. He was younger, maybe in his early to mid thirties, as tall as Greg, and had black wavy hair and light blue eyes. The nose was different, the cheekbones a bit less prominent and the lips not the same by a mile. The young man would never be Sherlock, but Greg could see why Molly was avoiding their looks, even though she most likely had no say in who was hired to be her assistant at all. Allen recounted his actions from when he came in contact with the body, his voice and manner professional, except for a few instances when his eyes skipped to Greg’s mouth, or further down.

Sherlock came over then, to ask the assistant if he had checked what the generic version of the victim’s medicine listed as contraindications, and matched that to her other medicines. Ben said he had a list to show him, so he looked at Greg, clearly reluctant to end the conversation. Then, as Sherlock peered at the eisenmeyer flasks, Ben took one of Molly’s cards, and wrote his name and number on the back, his fingers making contact with Greg’s as he handed it to him with a flirty little smile. Greg took the card and put it in his pocket.

OooOooO

HELP

BAKER ST

NOW

HELP ME

PLEASE

Greg hurried to Baker Street. Sherlock and John had no luck with their last case, a murder attempt with a suspect at large. Could the killer be holding Sherlock hostage?

He ran up the stairs at Baker Street gun drawn, the police, an ambulance and even a helicopter on their way. 

When he finally got there, the door was open. Greg peaked in and saw Sherlock sitting at his desk, pulling his hair. “What’s going on?” Greg asked, breathing heavily.

“This is hard.” Sherlock answered, rubbing his temples with his hands.

“What?” Greg asked again, voice fraught with anxiety.

“Hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” Sherlock raised his book, ‘How To Write An Unforgettable Best Man Speech’, “I need funny anecdotes about John, Greg. Do you have any?” he asked, to be distracted immediately by chaos in the street. Police cars, an ambulance and a helicopter.

“You didn’t go through any trouble, did you?” Sherlock asked, looking at Greg with increasing alarm.

“SHERLOCK! I left a mission that took me two years to get me to the point where I could finally make an arrest! You sent me that bloody message and I thought you were fucking dying and came running to your rescue! You inconsiderate arse! You are mental! For fuck’s sake!” Greg screamed his fists shaking.

The emergency responders, the police officers and a firefighter all fumbled up the stairs and tried to get through the door at the same time. 

“Greg?”

Greg had a hand on his hip, the other covering his red face.

“Oooh just — shut up, alright? Be quiet a moment while I fix this mess I made.”

He went to the door and had to talk to the irate first responders. When they finally left, complaining, and muttering about wasted time and resources, Greg had to call his office and Donovan, who was ecstatic, having made the arrest, though under another DI. Greg had half a mind to tear Sherlock a new one, he had been frustrated with the man thousands of times, but he was positively furious now. 

Sherlock approached him, his gait subdued, looking mostly at the floor, beer in his hand. “Lestrade, I should have asked if you were busy. I should have been clear about what I needed instead of giving in to drama. I apologise. I mean it. It’s alright if you want to leave.” He handed him the beer and waited, fingers fidgeting, head down, waiting for the verdict.

Greg opened his mouth. Maybe to yell some more, and leave. A memory came back, of the Christmas of the Black Dress, when Molly had said Sherlock complained about John leaving. Later on, when Greg had teased him about it, Sherlock had said. “Oh, John does not only leave for Christmas, he leaves every time I make him truly angry. Quite frankly, I’m surprised he comes back.” Greg had felt for him then.

He found himself calming down a bit. He drank the beer, and looked at the book. “Maybe, if you get me that take away I like, I’ll look it over. After all, not like I have anything else to do right now.”

OooOooO

Once he read the speech, Greg struggled to get his wording right. He didn’t want to make Sherlock feel any more exposed than necessary, but he couldn’t let him do this,“I suggest you take another look at this, Sherlock. This speech sounds as if you have... romantic feelings for John. You have to remember you will be reading this at the man’s wedding.” 

At this Sherlock froze, stopped his pacing and sat down. Greg continued, “As your friend, l have to tell you, Sherlock, if that’s how you really feel, you should talk with John and soon. You love him...mate.” Greg said it and was surprised when it hurt. It was one thing to acknowledge the man was attractive, but Sherlock loved John and that was a fact. Greg had known that for a long time. No use pining over him.

“I do, I did — I must admit I’m confused — I thought about him constantly while I was away. Missed him so much. Dreamed of coming back, of the two of us being the way we used to be. Ever since we met he has been… ” Sherlock shook his head, “... but when I came back, he had indeed moved on. He hit me, Greg. Again and again in front of his girlfriend, when I expected him to be happy I wasn’t dead. I expected a ‘Welcome back’, a hug? Instead, he was so angry! I had to ask him to forgive me, when I jumped to keep him — the three of you, alive. He remained angry, I believe he still is, to an extent. When I think of letting him know what I’ve been feeling for so long, it's his fists I see. Lestrade. After the first night, he knew I was back. If he wanted me at all, he could have waited a bit before he proposed, talked with me, listened to what I went through, he could have come back to Baker Street. Instead, he chose her. The common, boring life he thinks will make him happy. I know exactly what he would say if I were to try to talk to him about—this.” he said, his body hunched his hands and head pointing downwards from the edge of his seat.

Greg felt such pain for him, “Then I recommend you change the speech a bit. You are saying too much. You are basically confessing to him. You’re saying that Mary and you are the two people that love him most in the world. As if you love him the same way Mary does, like a spouse…” 

Sherlock winced at that. Greg continued, “You shouldn’t say those things at his wedding. Meet with him, say it to him in person, tomorrow. Right now, it’s the best of a bad time, Sherlock. Like the saying goes ‘It’s now or never’.”

“As for this…” he pointed at the computer screen, which displayed Sherlock’s speech. "You asked me for help so I can’t let you use this speech. It’s too much.” he concluded.

Sherlock lifted his face. He looked angry in the half dark flat.

“What is it to you? I asked you for help with funny anecdotes. Why would you care what I say?” he barked.

“Because I care about you, you infuriating bastard. I don’t think you would want people to see your most private thoughts, when you don’t even want to talk about them with John. You say this and Mary, her guests, John’s friends, and a whole bunch of strangers will know your deepest feelings, the things you hold in your heart. Think about it, Sherlock.”

They sat in silence for a while. Greg turned on the telly. About an hour later, when he was getting up to leave, Sherlock stood up too, grabbed his sleeve and put his head on Greg’s shoulder briefly. “Show me what I should change.” he whispered. Greg did.

OooOooO

As the Watson wedding got closer and closer, Sherlock spent more and more time with them. Greg was resigned to texting, although once Sherlock had come to the Yard bringing him coffee and sandwiches, staying an hour before getting a call and hurrying off without a goodbye. 

Now Greg was sitting at a pub, with a couple of blokes he knew from academy, when Sherlock walked in his direction looking around, finding him unerringly. He sat in the space next to Greg without saying a word. “Hey there.” Greg said. “Mates, this is Sherlock Holmes, the Consulting Detective that solves all our cases. Sherlock nodded towards the men, but said nothing. The men tried to start a conversation for a bit, but Sherlock remained mute and looked uncomfortable, so Lestrade continued talking as if all was well and soon the men let Sherlock be. He got closer to Greg by inches. When he stopped moving, his leg and his arm were touching Greg’s. Greg ordered a pint and some chips for him. The pint was ignored, the chips redistributed amongst the other men. When Sherlock tugged on Greg’s jacket the second time, Greg said his goodbyes.

“Want me to drop you off at Baker Street?"’ Greg asked.

Sherlock answered with a shake of his head; “No”. So Greg took him to his flat, where Sherlock headed straight to the sofa, hugged the pillow and rocked slightly. Greg took a shower, changed, and put some pajamas out for Sherlock, who changed right there in the living room. Greg sat next to him and Sherlock leaned slightly on him. 

“Is something hurting?” he asked. Sherlock shook his head.

“Something bothering you?” Sherlock nodded yes. 

“Mycroft?”head-shake by Sherlock.

“Mary?” Lestrade asked, and Sherlock lifted his head and stared at Greg. He nodded yes.

“You’ll tell me when you want to talk, alright? Want me to stay here?” he offered and as an answer Sherlock put his head on Lestrade’s shoulder and his fingers found the edge of his vest, rubbing it. Greg turned the telly on, but he had some pints before Sherlock even made it to the pub, so he fell asleep. He woke up to Sherlock making coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write for enjoyment, because there are stories in my head and someone to share them with. I write because stories look so good completed on AO3. The posting experience is so much better when people find something in my story that makes them wait for the next chapter. It’s such a great feeling to have comments to answer to. So know that comments and kudos are appreciated. 
> 
> Next week...The Stag Night!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brings in a mixed bag of emotions. We have Sherlock telling Greg the reason for his loss of words, and Greg gets invited for the fun of stag night. It is fun indeed, especially for the two men that dance up a storm. Greg did ask John first. A very serious conversation ensues at Baker Street, which leaves everybody upset. In spite of it, Sherlock looks for Greg to accompany him to his last task before the end of an era.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my marvelous, wunderbar beta, [ Loveismyrevolution](https://archveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseudo/Loveismyrevolution) She is participating in the Fandom Trumps Hate auctions, dear readers. Take the opportunity to have her write an angst, sexy, or hilarious story for you! (Or make a fabulous mood board for your OTP!) [ FTH.](https//fth2021offerings.dreamwidth.org/tag/username:+loveismyrevolution)
> 
> Thank you dear readers for the kind and generous receiving this story has had. I wrote it for fun and fell in love with it, and is very heartwarming that Loveis was right (as she usually is) when she said sharing it would bring some readers some joy. We all need it in these times, so my heartfelt gratitude to you all.

Your coffee and your coffee maker are subpar, Lestrade. You deserve something better.”

“Good Morning to you, sunshine! That’s nice, you making coffee.” he said as a greeting.

“I have to plan a ‘Stag Night’ for John. In the beginning, I was thinking to just go by ourselves, and time is running a bit short, it’s next weekend. Could you come?” Sherlock asked, looking him in the eye.

“I would have to change some shifts. You really want me there? Don’t want to intrude, in case you guys want some time alone.”

“Don’t be an idiot. We don’t need time alone. For your information, I did think about what you said. That it was the best of bad timing. I don’t feel the need to have a conversation with John about the feelings or the plans I had. He clearly made his choice and I respect it. So you can come with us to the stag night. You can only add to it, seeing as both of us tolerate you.”

“Tolerate me, huh?” Greg smiled. “You know, I’m happy you went looking for me, instead of being alone. You know you can do that any time.”

“Yes, I know. I was upset last night. Lucky for me Donovan knew what I needed. She told me where you were.”

“Yeah, she texted me this morning. She said you only got in her face and stared at her until she played 20 Questions and you finally heard the right one.” smiled Greg.

“That is a lie! She asked me four questions and only because she’s an idiot that couldn’t think of the one question I needed the answer to last night.’

“How did Mary upset you so much, huh?” Greg asked. “It’s not often you are left at a loss for words.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and looked at Greg. He sat down next to him and started, “This is between you and me, Greg. No chatting around.” Greg nodded. Sherlock continued. “When I met Mary, I knew she was not what she wanted people to think. She knows what a skip code is, she realised John was in danger, she knows about guns. Her accent is impossible to place. She is a liar. 

"Last weekend, we finally got into a row of sorts. We were at theirs. John had been sent off on some fool’s errand, and she was looking at 'accessories' for the dress, which she finally accepted my advice for and went to a vintage boutique, where the owner owes me a favor. Mary got a proper dress, in which she actually looks the part of John’s bride. When she got started about tiaras and crowns, I told her that details were unimportant, that John didn’t have the economic resources to satisfy her every whim. 

She turned around, furious and said ‘Don't mess with me Sherlock. You don’t know me. You have no idea what ‘resources’ I may have so fuck off! And don’t even try to turn John against me! It wouldn’t be good for any of us. At least as things stand I still allow him to play loyal sidekick to your little detective sketch’.

"At that point I turned around to leave and she followed me. Mary then said, 'What? Leaving now? Remember darling, in case you are tempted to blab, that even knowing you were back John. Still. Chose. Me.' 

"That night I did the tiniest bit of investigation on her and found no support to her claim of being a registered nurse, no record of attendance in any of the uni’s she claimed to have sat at, and the only birth certificate that matched her name and proclaimed date of birth was for a baby that died before it left hospital and is buried in Chiswick Cemetery,” stated Sherlock.

"On Tuesday she sought me out. Apologized, told me she was an orphan that had been abused as a child, so she sometimes loses control when someone tries to ‘manipulate’ her. She was sickenly sweet and full of smiles as if that would make me forget her total transformation. 

"I pretended to believe her. Yesterday, after wrapping up a small case about intellectual property theft, I talked to John about the spat, and about what I had found out. He said he wouldn’t have me investigating his fiancee. I was to understand this was his future wife and in order for us to get along well, I would stop all efforts. So I have." He concluded.

Greg got up and paced. 

“John insisted I’m being paranoid and ‘making a storm in a cup of tea.’ I think Mary told him I’m making up stories about her to separate them. I don’t trust her,” stated Sherlock.

“Talk to your brother. If he thinks the situation is not dangerous, it probably isn’t. You can’t intervene if John doesn’t see a problem. And, sorry, but they are a couple. You don’t know how much she might have told John about herself, I mean the man is not an idiot, he's not blind. She has to have told him something about herself. John called you off, Sherlock. So, maybe let it be? Help him when he asks you to?” Greg suggested.

Sherlock looked up at Greg. He looked sad — and done. “It doesn’t seem as if I have much of a choice, Lestrade.”

OooOooO

Lestrade had almost not been able to join the men for stag night. The criminals du jour had killed their associate and tried to get rid of the corpse by placing it in a refrigerator and taking said refrigerator out of the flat in a hand truck at 7:00 pm, practically giving a show to the suspicious neighbour who had already called the police before. Lestrade had placed his people around the block and they had caught the suspects. He had felt like a jerk leaving Stewart and Donovan with the paperwork, but he really wanted to go out with Sherlock — and John of course, man of the hour!

His Highness had picked bars in the neighborhoods they had solved cases in. Sherlock had brought his test tubes to measure their perfect alcohol intake, but John, sneaky bastard that he was, started to pour shots into their drinks when he took the tubes for refilling. 

Sherlock’s last place for the night, happened to be a gay bar. Lestrade couldn’t help noticing just how many hopeful blokes came after Sherlock, with the man being completely oblivious, trying to have a successful conversation with John about the case of the Royal Guard, who had been stabbed by a photographer. 

They had all drunk quite a lot, and had fish and chips. There were attractive blokes everywhere, the lights just right and the music was modern. Lestrade felt like dancing. So he got up.

Greg extended his hand to John, “Come on groom, let’s dance!” but John smiled and waved his hand no, “Not the dancing type, mate!”

So he extended his hand to Sherlock, who started to say the same, the posh berk, but Greg wasn’t having it. Instead, he caught his hand and pulled him up, and said in full Detective Inspector voice, “I’m not asking you! I’m giving you a direct order!” He noticed Sherlock’s eyes open wide, and his lips rising in a small smile. The song, “Dancing” was a perfect piece, the right mix of upbeat and hot. Greg exaggerated some steps and made over the top faces, and got what he wanted. Sherlock burst out laughing. The position they were in let Greg see John’s reaction to it. The look he gave Greg was rather hostile. Greg moved slightly to the side, leading Sherlock away from the doctor’s direct view. Sherlock started dancing, with the rhythm, carefree, beautiful, and yes quite sensually. When the next song “Better Off Without You” started, they just kept at it. Greg noticed Sherlock looked him over, looked at his mouth. Once he licked his lips, and Sherlock looked up, caught and looked hurridly away. Interesting.

They danced well together, and when the song ended, Sherlock did a mock bow and started turning towards the table, but “I’m Ready” came on and Greg caught his arm, this time bringing him close up to his body. They were both tipsy and neither seemed to mind. They also weren’t the only couple slow dancing this song. 

Oh, Sherlock looked gorgeous, and all those lights in his dishevelled curls, and the slight colour on his cheeks from his alcohol intake just made him more human. Sherlock now had his arms around Greg, around his neck, and was incredibly close to him. Greg could feel the fast beat of Sherlock’s heart, the heat of his body. He wanted to kiss him, push Sherlock toward the wall and snog him, or take him to the loo and suck him off. It was only John’s continued hawk-like stare that stopped him, and the fact that Sherlock undoubtedly didn’t feel the same, not about him. Though Sherlock had kept his body flush against his and he moved his hips along with the music, increasing the heat of Greg’s thoroughly naughty ideas. God they were plastered. 

They came back to the table, Sherlock smiling, sitting next to John, who gave Greg a positively feral look. “Had fun you two, didn’t you?” John asked, his eyes on Greg. He was about to say something, but Sherlock spoke first. “Yes actually, John. If you must know, Lestrade is not too bad to be around.” And Sherlock winked at him, which made Greg laugh, and John turned around to look at Sherlock, having missed it.

They drank some more, test tubes forgotten, and it was a good thing that the doctor and the detective inspector could hold their liquor well, as Sherlock proved to be a lightweight and totally done in for. While they were getting their coats and trying to get Sherlock into his, he picked a fight with a bear of a man about ash, which the stranger initially thought referred to his boyfriend of that name. Greg’s id came in handy in diffusing the situation. 

In a bad move, John took the front seat of the cab, upset by Sherlock’s behaviour, but he then kept turning around to “check” on him and seemed even more upset by Sherlock making himself comfortable on Greg’s shoulder, breathing on his neck. Greg sat back and was falling asleep himself, until he felt a hand throw his arm back. “Ouch!” he protested, realizing they had arrived at Baker Street, and it had been John taking Greg’s arm off of Sherlock’s shoulder and trying to wake the man, with no success. Greg half picked him up, half pushed him into John’s arms, who managed to pull him out and stand him up, until Greg paid the cab and came around to help. Sherlock half woke up enough to complain, “What? Thereth too many handths!” Greg smiled and looked at John, but John was frowning. “Getting him upstairs is going to be a bitch.”

Greg looked at him. “Nah, you just grab his feet. I’ll go first. Come on, buddy.” he said, as he got his arms under Sherlock’s to pick him up. Sherlock opened his eyes, giggled and stretched his arm up and behind himself to touch Greg’s hair. “Lethtrade, Lethtrade we don’t do thith.” 

“Sherlock! Cut it out!” barked John. Sherlock fell asleep anyway. They went into the flat, and put Sherlock to bed. The two friends undressed him and put his pajamas on. Then they went to the living room. John poured a Scotch for them.

OooOooO

“So, you and Sherlock are now the best of friends, aren’t you?” asked John and the possessiveness in his voice was unmistakable.

“We’re closer, yeah. He needed someone when he came back. He had a lot to say,” answered Greg.

“Then, thank God you were there to listen,” sarcasm dripping from John’s voice, “He seems pretty comfortable around you, Greg.”

“John, what’s the point of all this? Why are you even jealous? The poor bloke has been in a sulk since he came back and there was no John Watson at Baker Street. He was so lonely, mate. He missed you, and you wouldn’t give him the time of day. God, the way you were when he was gone, I thought you would be happy and grateful to have him back! Instead you refuse to listen to him and you are angry about things when you should know better. You two should have a conversation about what you’ve been to each other ever since you met. John, you should look inside yourself and remember what you feel for him, before it’s too late.”

“Did he put you up to this Greg? Is this one of his manipulative games? Cause I’m not playing! He faked his death! He left me behind, and came back without a thought of how it might have affected me! I’ve changed, I have a new life, and I won’t let him interfere!” John’s bark was loud in the flat.

“Mate, you are making important decisions without knowing all the facts. What’s even worse, while you’re angry! Just talk to him, John! You still have a bit of time!”

John looked confused. “You’re right I’m angry. The bloody git jumped in front of me and left me to believe I didn’t do enough to stop him from taking his own life. Yes, I had a hell of a time, and yes it would have been nice if he hadn’t stayed away as long as he did, but it is what it is, Greg.”

“John, you bloody moron! Sherlock is here! He cares for you! He’s alive! And do you have the first idea how lucky you are? Yes he’s a lunatic, a madman, he’s insanely dangerous! But he…"

“He what?” asks John, his arms crossed, expression closed.

“He and you, mate, you two belong together. Do something while there’s still a chance, because that chance doesn’t last forever. Trust me John, It’s gone before you know it!”

John let out a breath. “This is bollocks, Greg. I forgave him, I’m going on cases with Sherlock. He is my best friend and my best man. Yes, we are incredibly close. We will continue to be. I don’t plan on things changing more than they have to. Greg, maybe you forgot I’m already in a relationship. With Mary. Whom I am getting married to. Sherlock made his choices. I made mine. There is no turning back now.”

With that, John turned around, grabbed his coat and left. Greg thought he should leave too, but he was tired, from the clubbing, but mostly from trying to talk some sense into John. He was so closed up, but that hadn’t stopped the fool from being flat out jealous. John had said Sherlock seemed pretty comfortable around him. Greg liked that, and wanted Sherlock to continue to feel that way. He had been surprised when John went in the front seat, and even more so when Sherlock practically curled into him to sleep in the cab. That led him to think about the time he slept in Sherlock’s bed, what would it be like to wake next to the man every day? He fell asleep thinking about it

OooOooO

Greg had ordered him to dance. It had been fun. The alcohol had gotten to him, he knew, but he was pleasantly tipsy, enough to never mind John being upset for reasons unknown, probably missing Mary. Anyway, the music was good, even if the lights were too much. Looking at a fixed point helped him handle the overwhelming surroundings. So he looked at Greg. Who looked younger in the colourful lights. His hair was shiny, his pupils dilated. The man could move to the rhythm. He was nicely dressed, blue jeans for goodness sake, and a crisp white shirt. His smile though. Men stared at him, rightfully so. Then the slower song had come on and Greg had held him close. It had not been a waltz though and there had been much more movement required. They had moved well, pressed together, the rhythmic dance practically making them grind their bodies. Sherlock had felt his heart hammer against Greg’s chest and the man had already caught him looking at his lips, dancing this close made him want the club and the people to disappear, so only that man was with him, those hands on his hips, what would those lips on his own actually feel like?

OooOooO

“Yooo-hooo! Good morning — Oh Greg, it’s you who stayed over! I thought it had been John. I brought some brunch over; chicken noodle soup, avocado toast, tea. Hopefully it helps with the hangover… Sherlock not up yet?”

“Morning Mrs H. No not yet.” said Greg, his head wanting to pound. Mrs Hudson reached up in a cabinet and got a bottle of paracetamol, bringing it over to Lestrade with a glass of water. “Ooh, you angel!” he said.

Sherlock tumbled out of the lavatory a bit later, walking unsteadily, holding his head. He went to Mrs H and gave her a peck on the cheek and a hug, while receiving his glass of water and paracetamol. “You are the absolute Queen of all things good.” He said, as he grabbed his cuppa and took a sip, then he looked up and saw Greg’s eyes on him and his cheeks gained some colour.

“Morning, Lestrade.” He used the surname to put some distance between them.

“Morning, Holmes.” Greg said without looking at him. “Hope you don’t mind, I fell asleep on your chair. Meant to leave after John, but it didn’t happen.” 

“Why would I? Though you should have picked the sofa, now your whole back will be sore.” Sherlock said as he studied the man.

“You feel guilty, as you are not looking at me, and it’s not because of the dancing.” At that, Mrs Hudson, who was pretending not to listen as she cleaned, turned her head to look at Greg, and a smile came on her face. 

“You had words with John. About me. You idiot. That’s why he went off, that’s why you meant to leave.” Sherlock’s voice was rising and now Mrs Hudson said “oh dear!” as she put down the rags and scampered away.

“Calm down! I didn’t say a word about anything in the speech or anything that you and I have talked about that is private! Yes, I told him the two of you should talk and that he is making a decision without all the information. That’s all Sherlock!” Greg said, standing up.

“And he told you what we knew he would. That he has made his choice! Did that make you happy? Are you content now?” Sherlock clamored, his anger threatening to escalate further.

“NO! Nothing about that makes me happy, Sherlock! I want you to be alright. That’s why I did it, it’s all. No agenda behind it, just your wellbeing, you big lug!”

“John is your friend. Why would you upset him for me? I upset him enough. You don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything for me!” Sherlock growled.

“Yes, I do! I do things because I care, Sherlock! I always have! You say you’ve never had any friends; John said all the time he was your only one; but it’s not true! I’ve always been your friend. I want you to be ok, I want you to solve crimes, I want you happy, like you were last night.” Greg said. 

“I was drunk last night, Lestrade. And I’m very hungover now. So, if you're done eating, I’m quite sure there is work you need to do. At the Yard.” Sherlock said, as he looked out the window. Greg got up, got his coat and left.

Greg had three very busy days, checking papers, going out to crime scenes appearing in court, and having just had dinner with Tara and her roommate. His girl showing off the scholarship she had gotten for her research. He had a very nice evening with them. So he hadn’t thought about posh, idiot, friendless geniuses at all. Not one bit. Even when John had called him the day before, rather sheepishly, to remind him he was in fact expected at the wedding, meaning all was well between them. He guessed he would see Sherlock at the wedding. As he got ready for bed, he looked at his phone for texts — from Donovan. There were none. So he went to bed. To sleep. With no dreams about silly men with silly curls.

OooOooO

Sherlock knew Greg would not be angry for long. Experience dictated it. He himself had been upset all Sunday, though that might have been the hangover. By Monday his fingers oscillated over the letters on his phone to text Lestrade, but he decided he would rather not. A text was too easily ignored. A visit would be better, more efficient. Plus, he had something to do he did not want to be alone for. So with some preparation the day before, he headed to Lestrade’s flat, and let himself in with his picks. He finished his morning task and he set out the croissants in a bowl on the table, when he heard the gentlest of footsteps, the slightest creak of the wood beneath Greg’s feet. Sherlock stood, his hands refusing to remain idle, though he did get his legs to collaborate and stay still. Lestrade jumped into the kitchen, professional stance and gun in hand, deflating once he saw him.

“For fuck’s sake, Sherlock! It’s bloody 5 o’clock in the morning! I could have shot you, you Ponce idiot!” he said, breathing hard, and putting the security back on the gun. “God, that coffee smells good!’

“You would not have shot me because you are a professional. You always assess the scene first. The smell of coffee cut through your subconscious as did the thought that someone out to cause you harm would not bring you good coffee.”

“You put a lot of faith in the fact that I would think like you, which I don’t. The coffee does smell good, even though you are a hell of early, Sherlock.” Greg said.

“Well, I remembered disliking your coffeemaker, and … I did not feel good about how we parted ways last time, so…”

“So you brought me some coffee! That’s great!” said Greg. 

Sherlock stepped aside and Greg saw a new coffee maker, a coffee bean grinder and three small bags of coffee beans on his counter, along with chocolate and almond croissants on the table.

“You! You numpty! You didn’t have to go buy all this? Are you daft?” he said, but he put an arm over his shoulders. Sherlock had his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the floor.

“You obviously benefit from good coffee. I thought you could have breakfast with your friend. Whom is I. I prefer to avoid mediocre coffee, so…” he stammered.

“So, it’s a present for you. I don’t want to think about how much this cost you…”

“Then don’t and invite me to breakfast.” said Sherlock, looking at Greg from the corner of his eye.

“Sherlock, grab a cup and stay for breakfast. Then show me how to handle these things.”

As the men ate, Sherlock asked Greg to come with him to the final fitting of his suit. They talked about the case Greg was finishing paperwork for. Then Greg had a thought.

“Sherlock, you know you didn’t have to buy me all this stuff because of the tiff we had, right?”

“I didn’t?” Sherlock asked.

“Of course not! I’m your friend! Friends have brawls all the time. Differences of opinion. Root for different teams. It’s all fine. I wasn’t about to stop being your friend just because you kicked me out of Baker Street.”

“Well, I would have given you the coffee maker anyway, seeing as I visit. However, I do appreciate the heads up.” Sherlock said with a smile.

They went to the Yard first, Lestrade had things to tend to and Sherlock reviewed some cold cases. Then they headed towards the tailor shop. Greg was happy he came, just to have a preview of Sherlock looking that gorgeous. God this man!

“So, what color is John wearing again?" asked Lestrade and Signor Lorenzio bought out John’s suit. Identical to the one Sherlock had on. The suits were exactly the same. Greg’s heart threatened to break and he felt his eyes moisten. Oh, Sherlock.

“Signor Lorenzio, may we have a moment?” asked Greg, trying to get his emotions under reign again.

“Greg? What happened? Are you ill? Should we leave?” Sherlock asked, coming towards him.

“No, I’m fine, it’s just. Remember how I told you, certain parts of your speech gave too much of your feelings away?”

“Yes, so? We changed them.”

“Sherlock, don’t do this. Don’t dress exactly like John. We’ve talked about this, about putting your feelings out there for everyone to see.”

Sherlock sat down, looking at the floor, “Not good?”

“Not good for you sweetheart. He’s getting married. To one person only. To Mary. You, you have to take care of yourself.” As he said this, he sat next to Sherlock, let his hand caress Sherlock’s back, then up to his neck, the curve of his head.

“What if…” he whispered, “...I don’t know how?”

Greg got off the settee to crouch in front of him. “Look at me, Sherlock. I will be there for you. If you can’t make it alone, then you have me, I’ll stand with you. I’ll be there, next to Molly and Mrs H. I will be looking out for you. You hear me? If you can’t do it, can’t stand it anymore, if you need to leave, you just have to look at me. Alright?” Greg didn’t care if he was letting his own feelings show, he would not let Sherlock be alone at the damned wedding. 

Sherlock spoke to Mr. Lorenzio, who assured him he could fit the new shirt and vest in time for the wedding. Greg agreed that the new color, silver gray waist coat and tie went well for the occasion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter was a rollercoaster, the next one is an absolute train-wreck... (or isn’t it?) actually the next few chapters, so stock up on tissues, chocolate, maybe some rum, cause here it comes...THE WEDDING (re-imagined)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wedding - Joyous occasion for those who look forwards to living together and working towards their future. A time for celebration, for cheering with friends, and family, and loved ones. It’s a time for toasting, and dancing, and being happy for the bride and groom. How will the Best Man cope? Will he stay and dance? Will he leave early? Where will he go afterwards, and what will he do? Here are the answers to these questions. Here also, the aftermath of the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to the one and only [ Loveismyrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) who patiently goes over chapters I have added or subtracted things to, and corrects my horrible punctuation. Any post editing errors are completely my own.
> 
> This Watson/Morstan wedding depicted here belongs to this AU. It has been modified from the wedding in the series, to allow Sherlock to experience it differently. As this is not a Johnlock story, I confess I had more fun writing the scenes that come after the wedding. Hope you enjoy.

Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t he have listened to Mycroft for once and taken that case in Greece? Greece, he could be there! Instead, he was in this horrid stuffy church full of horrid, stuffy flowers. John was standing next to him, pale and seemingly looking to him for reassurance, when his limbs wanted to fly away from his body, he was sure he was hyperventilating, and his clothes were chafing his neck, his arms, his socks were too loose, the bloody air stank of flowers. Now, here she came, she walked down the aisle, alone. 

John’s smile looked forced and Sherlock’s whole stomach and heart fell — How ambitious of him to think he could do this, when his body was a ball of pain, and all he wanted to do was find a way to score. People shouldn’t say they were going to be there for you, when they weren’t, and he should have known not to tru...

Hurrying along the outer aisle, was a slim, well dressed man. Where was bloody Lestrade? He had said…

The man waved. At Sherlock. He did a double take. It was Greg. In a charcoal suit slim cut and presenting a shape Sherlock had not thought he had. Lilac shirt and a tie that was the exact same one he was wearing. The man had returned to Sr. Lorenzio. He looked — good. He was smirking. Sherlock gave him a haughty look and an eyeroll for good measure and realized he had missed John’s vows. It was probably for the best. He turned around once more to check if Lestrade had sat next to Mrs Hudson, and found him next to Molly.

They exited the church, Sherlock holding Janine’s arm, and guiding her to the limo that awaited the bridal party. He excused himself and joined Lestrade and Mrs H in a taxi to the reception. 

“You did so well Sherlock! And it was so good of you to make it Greg, may I say you boys look so handsome!” Mrs Hudson kept up the chatter until they got to the reception hall. 

Once inside when the Bridal party took their seats in the hall, Sherlock found himself reluctant to take his place next to John.

“I can’t do this,” whispered Sherlock, nerves eating at his stomach, jitters threatening to take over again.

“You got this. We rehearsed this Thursday night. You’ll do fine. Remember, stick to the speech, no vowing undying love…” 

“Do shut up Lestrade!”

“I’m just saying — no vows to save his arse from doing the domestic work. Wives love when their husbands do the dishes. Just go with what you rehearsed, then the toast, and they’re on their own for pictures. I will be at the table with Mrs H cheering you on.”

So Sherlock went into battle, sitting next to John, who looked like a vision, so handsome, but so nervous, constantly looking up at him. Sherlock wanted to comfort him and give him strength, but he also wanted to grab his hand and run away with him somewhere they could just be them. Breathing was getting harder and harder and each one caught in his chest. His mask was going to crack any given minute, and the announcer called for the Best Man. He stood up in a daze and saw Molly put a hand to her forehead. He wanted the floor to open. He wanted to have never come back. He couldn’t do this…

...he saw Greg waving discreetly. He made a gesture, ‘calm down’. Greg sat up straighter, chin up and breathed deeply and slowly. Sherlock followed suit. Greg then took his water glass and drank. Sherlock did so too, and felt the knot in his throat give a little. They looked at each other once more. Greg gave a little nod, and Sherlock responded. He started his speech. He followed the notes so he did not revert to what he had written down initially. It must have been good enough, as people laughed and looked happy in appropriate places. John interrupted him at some point to give him their first ever hug. Sherlock had no time to process it, just went on to finish the speech and ended with a toast, where he remembered not to make vows as that was only appropriate for the people actually getting married. 

When the people started making a line to congratulate the couple and take pictures, Sherlock walked to where Mrs Hudson, Molly, Tom and Greg were. He sat next to him and downed his drink. The champagne from the toast. Mrs Hudson said, “You did so well, my boy! I’m very proud of you.” He nodded, but there was something in her voice that stopped him from looking up at her. She understood too much. 

He felt Greg’s hand on his back, and started to shake it off, he was scared of faltering. Greg leaned in a bit and raised the hand towards his neck, putting the water glass close to him. Sherlock drank it up and breathed. When he looked up he saw Mrs Hudson looking at Greg with those knowing eyes. Why? He turned and found Lestrade looking at him, “You alright?” he asked him, softly. 

“Yes, of course.” Sherlock answered. “Go get me some cake.”

As Greg walked towards the cake table, the Master of Ceremonies announced the Newlyweds dance. Sherlock’s waltz for John. He felt thankful to have let Lestrade convince him to record it and upload the file, give it to the DJ. He couldn’t imagine playing it now. John stood up, took Mary by the hand, and got in the leading position Sherlock had taught him, his hands low on her waist. Sherlock felt a strike of pain, and a door slammed shut in his Mind Palace. He needed to get away. He went around the table to tell Molly he was out for air. 

Greg found him outside smoking. “Hey! Where’s mine?” he asked. Sherlock took one out of the pack and lit it for him. 

“Thought you quit.”

“Thought you did too.” said Greg with a smile at the drag of the cigarette. 

“Pinched them from Tom’s jacket pocket.” replied Sherlock, and Greg laughed, “You’re doing fine.”

“No I’m not. And if you dare say it’s ‘the end of an era’ I will use you for a punching bag.” said Sherlock. 

“Just a bit more, Sherlock. You can’t leave just yet. John was already upset, looking for you.” Greg said and Sherlock looked away.

“The dancing is about to start and he’ll be looking for us to help fill the dance floor. Can’t leave the groom to dance alone! We wouldn’t do that? Would we — you and I?” Greg asked, extending his hand. 

“We would never do that to John Watson.” muttered Sherlock, eyes still down, face a bit pale, but reached for Greg’s hand, and let him pull Sherlock’s back off the wall. As they went back, Janine called him with her hands, maybe for a dance.

“Look Lestrade. You can dance with her. She is looking to pull tonight. Go get her, tiger.” said Sherlock. With Greg gone, he would leave, get rid of these lights, the stupid music, the stupid bride. He thought Greg had left, but he came back running. “She wanted us to know John is looking for you.” Sherlock sighed. There was John, relieved to see him.

“Where did you go you git? I wanted you to play the waltz, instead you disappeared! We’re all done with it now.” John barked, shiny eyes and slight smile, warm affection seeping through.

The DJ invited the guests to the dance floor and seeing John move away, ready to dance with his bride gave him a vicious pain in the gut. The chords of the song started, and Sherlock wished he had left a long time ago. He started to move through the crowd, thinking about his coat, when Greg grabbed his hand. “Oh no, you don’t, Your Highness! You are not robbing me of the pleasure of your company. We are dancing this!"

“No we are not!” sulked Sherlock, as he tried to free himself.

“I say, let’s make them talk. We can. And we will have fun doing it. Let’s go and be show-stopping!”

Sherlock liked dancing with Greg. They were well matched. There was no harm in a dance now. He let Greg pull him closer to the newlyweds. Music started. People poured onto the dance floor. “Oh What A Night” came on. Sherlock loved this song. His father used to sing it while little boy Sherlock followed him around on his walks. Greg was making exaggerated movements and faces at him. Sherlock gave in and started to dance. Someone hooted at the other side of the room. Greg twirled Sherlock around, pulled him close and kept him moving. His antics made Sherlock smile. He saw John then, staring at him, unhappy. What could he possibly be doing wrong? 

A couple of songs later, Sherlock found himself slow dancing again with Greg. “The Way You Look Tonight”. Greg had sang along with it. Sherlock took the time to really look at him. Greg’s suit was perfect, the shirt fitted well, his silver hair styled just so. His body compact, no extra softness there. Greg did in fact look lovely tonight. Thankfully, he did not look at him while singing. Sherlock looked up to see Mrs Hudson dancing with a stranger, looking at them with affection. Janine gave him a thumbs up. As they turned around, he saw the newlyweds, Mary smiling saying hello with the tip of her fingers, John looking into his eyes with his brow scrunched, his mouth in a frown, his chin up, eyes hurt? What had he done now? Sherlock had had enough. 

He had to talk into Greg’s ear to be heard, “I’m leaving. Enough.” and turned around and started walking.

OooOooO

He was outside on his phone when Greg caught up with him; “Hey! We were supposed to leave together!”

“You can go back and have some actual fun, Lestrade. I am quite tired of the whole thing already.” Sherlock looked at his phone. 

“I’m going with.” Greg stated chin up, arms crossed.

“Nope, the law not allowed.”

“Then come with me. Morgan is at my place.” said Lestrade.

“Morgan?”

“The Captain. Bought him special. Private stock and plenty of it. All the extras too! We can experiment.” offered Greg.

“No. This is not your problem, Lestrade.” The stupid cab did not come.

“You are my friend not my problem and I am not leaving you alone tonight. It’s my place or the holding cell, Holmes.”

“You think you can order me around now? Are you demented?” The cab finally arrived, and the annoying, idiotic detective inspector pushed in behind him, having the nerve to show his ID to the driver, and give him his address, in a loud, commanding voice.

“You can’t force me! I’ve committed no crime! I have the right to leave!”

“Go if you want to, Sherlock. I do want you with me, though. Just so you know.” Greg sat back and looked out the window. Sherlock turned and put his hand on the door. 

“Do you really have alcohol?” Sherlock found he would rather not be alone in a filthy skip after all.

“Plenty of. Went all out especially for the occasion. Even bought fresh limes.” Greg deadpanned.

“Can’t waste those.” Sherlock conceded, sitting back himself. They rode in comfortable silence. Made it to Greg’s flat.

OooOooO

Later there was a mess of bottles, empty, half full and limes, lime rinds, lime slices, littering the floor where two evidently drunk men were sitting, still talking about crime, and suspects and John, and the wedding, and Lestrade’s suit.

“The cut Greg… the cut of a thuit maketh a big differenth. Your usual thuith, they are too big for you. Make you look thofth. You. You are not thofth. You are fit!” said Sherlock pointing at him with a hand that held a glass with rum in it.

“Is that why you use every single piece of clothing so damn tight? So you don’t look ‘soft’? Believe me, you don’t have to worry. Fucking GQ model you are.”

“Lethtrade, I’m boneth and hair. A man should have thome tone! Thome shape! Like John. Like you!” slurred Sherlock.

“You’ve got muscle. Course you do! All that running around, jumping from one rooftop to another, has to pay off! Like, look at this…” Lestrade slapped Sherlock’s thigh. “Strong legs, and these!," he pinched Sherlock’s arms, “These guns are charged!”

“Of courth! Everybody thinks both you and John are thronger than me. I may not have all...that.” he said, waving a hand towards Greg, “...but I’m wiry, and thronger than either of you.” Sherlock said.

“You wish! Get up! Here now! Let’s see who is stronger, come on!” said Lestrade, taking his jacket and his shirt off, remaining in his vest. Sherlock did so too.

Greg wanted to go easy on him. The man was drunk, and had been through a lot today, but it was too easy. One little push sent him almost off balance. Then Greg pushed Sherlock’s shoulders, and he did offer some resistance and a bit more as Greg pushed a bit harder.

They were each holding the other’s forearms and then Sherlock looked up and gave him an evil smile. He dug into his arms and started pushing back with surprising ease. Sherlock smirked as he pushed him effortlessly, even while Greg started seriously resisting. 

Greg was soon against the wall, Sherlock smiling maniacally. Colour on his face, light sweat, heat. Oh no. Oh shit. Time stopped. Both men breathing hard. Fuck, both men getting hard. Greg looked up, to see Sherlock looking at his mouth. “Sherlock,” he said, breathless, meaning to follow up with, ‘Ok enough now’, or ‘we don’t do this mate’, or…

Sherlock moved his head forward and kissed him, hard, and Greg’s self-control went out the window. His body was pressed to the wall, Sherlock holding him back, and now his hands were in Greg’s hair, and Greg was holding on tight and wanted this to never stop. Sherlock was persistent, taking his lips off his, now sucking on his neck, his hands under Greg’s vest, grabbing at his sweaty body and groaning sinfully. It was so hard to think! He wanted more, so much more, but this was his friend. And John just got married! Sherlock was drunk...did he even know who he was kissing?

He pushed Sherlock back a bit. “Sherlock….Sherlock wait, hey wait!” 

Sherlock pulled back a bit, his hands still on Greg’s body, his eyes dazed, his lips red from Greg’s mouth. “I’m Greg, Sherlock. You know that, right? Greg?” he said, trying to catch his breath.

Sherlock’s eyes squinted and he tilted his head, “Obviously. I’m Sherlock. Hello.” he lowered his voice on the last word and kissed him again. Greg pushed once more. “Sherlock, we’re drunk.”

Now Sherlock moved back again. “Excellent deduction. Is there a problem?” he asked, not moving away, not yet.

“We shouldn’t go on, not like this, Sherlock. We’ve both had too much to drink.” said Lestrade and felt like a tool when he saw Sherlock’s face turn pale and lose all expression. Sherlock put both hands up, stepped away, and said, 

“Apologies.”

“No! It’s not that...Sherlock it’s just...” Greg stammered regretting the distance between them already.

“We are friends, Sherlock…” at that, Sherlock’s head snapped back, as if he’d been slapped in the face,”...I don’t want our friendship to be ruined by…” Greg tried to explain. 

“No, I got it Lestrade, you are right, I am drunk.” Sherlock said. He took a bottle, drank directly from it, walked towards the entrance, took his coat and left, bottle in hand.

Greg took a minute too long to process what had just happened. By the time he hurried down the stairs, he saw a taxi leaving with Sherlock presumably in it. Shit, shit, shit. Not what he wanted! At all. 

OooOooO

Sherlock stumbled not quietly into the house. Tripped on the stairs. He was careful not to spill the rum. Seemed important. 

“What on Earth?” Hudders picked tonight of all nights to not have her herbal soother. Bugger.

“Sherlock? Are you alright?” She asked turning on the light. Sherlock put up the hand not holding the bottle and hissed like a cat.

“Hudders, if you ever dithturb my stepth again, your life shall pay the forfeit of the peath...'' Sherlock slurred.

“Oh you silly man, if you are going to quote Shakesphere at me please find a better line and don’t misquote it. You are quite drunk dear.”

“Yes Hudthon, it appears I am.” he said, and she pushed him up the stairs. 

“Were you alone, love? In a pub?” She helped him take his coat off, sat him on the sofa.

“No. I was with a bloody copper. He was insistent in protecting my honour Hudthon — Mrs. I have thucth great friendth. One left me to get married, to a _ woman _ , and the other is the last knight of ...oh something detectivy…”

Mrs Hudson giggled. He had been with Greg. At least not alone, or in a skip. Home was better. She took the bottle from him, poured the meager remains down the drain, brought a pillow and a comforter and covered Sherlock who had taken his shoes off and was now asleep on the couch. His phone on the floor, lighting up with messages; D.I.Lestrade, of course.

Mrs Hudson picked it up and put it to charge. Then she texted Greg, telling him Sherlock was home and asleep, then went back downstairs.

OooOooO

Next time Sherlock woke up it was to a spinning flat. He closed his eyes tight and tried to remember, then promptly wished he hadn’t. It had happened. John was now officially married. He groaned out loud. The need to use the toilet would get uncomfortable soon. There was something else...the room spinned slower now, but he didn’t like the way his stomach rolled. No! Why had he gone with Lestrade? Most importantly, why chose to drink with him?

He remembered with a start —he  had kissed him. Lestrade. His friend. Oh god no! Even with John’s catastrophic wedding, Sherlock had enjoyed the parts of yesterday he had spent with Lestrade. The smoking, the dancing, the drinking. He had thought the snogging was good. Lestrade had definitely been participating enthusiastically. He had been looking at his mouth often enough. He had shown attraction, though Sherlock had proven to be mistaken about reading that kind of thing repeatedly. It hadn’t felt wrong. In fact, he had wanted more. He had liked the feel of Greg’s body under the shirt, remembered wanting to take those slim fitting trousers off. But due to his abhorrent penchant for selecting unavailable men as persons of interest, he had of course been mistaken once again. In mid action, Lestrade had reminded him they were drunk and that they should stop because physical involvement would negatively affect their friendship. Sherlock knew after living with John Watson that Greg calling him a friend meant No Touch! Greg wasn’t interested in anything other than being “mates”. 

Could he pretend he had forgotten it due to the alcohol? Perhaps. Would Greg believe it? Probably not but if he wanted to remain friends, maybe he would forgive Sherlock, and he needed Lestrade, as a friend. 

OooOooO

Greg was losing his mind. Sherlock had not communicated after he had had the great idea of interrupting what was probably The. Best. Snog. of his life, because he was insecure the man might have been confusing him with John. Then he had the brilliant idea to call it off because they were drunk! As if Sherlock was offering him a relationship instead of...well maybe sex. He had pushed Sherlock away! And he was supposed to be his friend!! On the other hand, how would he have been able to ever be friends with Sherlock, after having sex with him? No! Bad enough with the snogging! After a tussle and against a wall, like teenagers for fuck’s sake! But oh wow the kisses, the heat of Sherlock’s body, the drumming of his heart against his own chest, Sherlock’s hands exploring his body, turning on every muscle, every nerve! And he had called it off, not because he wanted it to stop, but because he had had to.

This was a mess of his own making. How would they be able to go on? He had pushed Sherlock away, and the man had left. With Sherlock that most likely meant game over. Had he been conscious enough to know he had been kissing him and not John? Because if he had, it must have been...the heat of the moment? Genius that he was, the man knew Greg was helplessly attracted — but the feeling wasn’t mutual. It couldn’t be. Either way, Greg feared that all these months of friendship, and of being there for him, were over. One night he let his guard down. Greg made a face, guard down? What was he hiding?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to extend a grateful thank you for the readers who leave kudos and comments. You make the experience of posting a story much more rewarding and pleasant!  
> Coming up next chapter...Bees! Donovan and Greg have a conversation. Molly gives Sherlock some revealing advice, while her assistant behaves oddly. How does a Detective Inspector handle the crush/lust felt for his best friend? Curiosity killed the cat. What will it do to a Consulting Detective?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After John’s wedding, things are a bit strained between Greg and Sherlock. Calling and texting the genius fails, so Greg takes Sherlock out for a “case” to reconnect. However, even Donovan notices that while Greg and Sherlock are “friends” again, something is not right between them. Sherlock is deep into Lady Smallwood and Mycroft’s case, with no results and much frustration. Greg’s method of coping with his feelings for Sherlock is discovered by the Consulting Detective, with devastating consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gratitude to [ Loveismyrevolution ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveismyrevolution/pseuds/Loveismyrevolution) is everlasting and only constantly growing. She is an awesome writer, so please use the link to find her stories.  
> Couple of things. Firstly, thank you all for reading and being so kind and lovely with the kudos and the comments! I do love this story, and your support is heartwarming.  
> Now, this chapter earns the “E” rating. One of our guys will not be happy. I placed a “*” at the start of the pertinent scene, in case the explicits are not your thing. This is not the only explicit scene there will be in this story, but it’s the only one that drives one of our guys to despair.

Greg caved in first. He had to. He had been the one to push away. He sent the text, stupid as it was, and for the rest of the day he proceeded as if he didn’t care if Sherlock answered it or not.

-Have you heard from the honeymooners?

It was afternoon before Sherlock responded.

-Yes. They have arrived at the hotel safely, though apparently both have different ideas of how to use their time. Mary wants them to go snorkeling together, while John just wants to sit at the ocean side and read one of his silly books. SH

-Oh the joy. You ok? Want to come down to the yard? Nothing major, but we could grab a bite?

-Can’t. Have to go interview a recent widow about the blackmail her saintly departed husband was going through. Mycroft. SH

-Sounds not so interesting. Keep in touch?

…

…

-Yes, of course. SH

OooOooO

But he didn’t. As Greg knew he wouldn’t. And every day with no word, left him empty, and lonely, with the memory of those kisses and that body replaying in his mind. The third night with no contact, Lestrade looked through his wallet. Found the card. Made a call.

The next day, late afternoon, Greg had to admit, it hadn’t worked. Sherlock was still on his mind. Of course the man hadn’t texted or called since Greg texted. So he would try again.

-Hey! How is it going? The case?

-Ongoing. Waiting for the blackmailer to take notice of me. Bored. SH

-What, contact not imminent?

-Nope. I’ve been trying to get his attention. SH

-So come out for a bite, make yourself seen.

-Not at all peckish and in my pajamas. Don’t want to change now. Maybe some other time. SH

-Alright. TTYL then.

Greg would see Sherlock. He thought he knew what to do.

OooOooO

Stupid case, the blackmailer wouldn’t make a move. Stupid Mycroft, of course would not let him use his own plan, stupid John, sending him texts from his “sex holiday.” John complained that Mary wanted to do everything together, while he wanted some time to breathe. He complained about the room. About the food. Sherlock sent him text after text about the cases just to make him stop. John had chosen to be married. He had to work harder at enjoying it perhaps. 

Now there was Mrs Hudson cooing at someone. Not a client. One of his underground network teens? Rather early…oh Lestrade. He groaned. He did not want to talk about...the incident. Not now, not ever.

“I need your help! Get off your arse and come with me!" Lestrade said in lieu of a greeting.

Sherlock was caught off guard and did not like it. “What is this even about? I’m not aware of any case…” he said as he hurriedly got dressed.

“I don’t have time, Sherlock! Now if you're coming!” Greg hurried down the stairs and into his car. Sure enough, there came Sherlock trying to tame his hair. 

“Where are we going?” he started.

“To collect evidence. Now be quiet! I’m thinking.” Greg said, hands tight on the steering wheel face in a grimace of concentration. Sherlock sat quietly, and looked out the window, turning slightly to look at Greg every once in a while. He was muttering to himself and checking the navigation app. They got to an eclectic neighborhood and Greg got on the phone. They were let in by a charming young lady who smiled and welcomed them in. What was going on? Lestrade dropped the act and bore a big smile. “You’re going to like this!” he said.

Sherlock tried to remember whose birthday it was, or if it was a holiday of sorts. The lady took them through a small playground and led them to a garden. There was something behind a tall fence. And Lestrade was right. He loved it. There were beehives! In the city! He had seen others but this was gorgeous! So much colour! It smelled amazing and he liked the sound of the bees. 

“What? Why are we here?” asked Sherlock.

“Solved a case across the street. Saw this from above and came to say hi to Zaide here.”

The young woman was very enthusiastic about the bees. It was a community effort and she was friends with beekeepers around the world. She showed Sherlock around the small space and let him take a closer look at the hives. He was enchanted. She took him into the little store, where he sampled some honey from around the world. Avocado honey, Eucalyptus honey, coffee honey. He bought so much! He saw Lestrade buying things too.

Once they were done, sitting in Greg’s car, both eating honey biscuits in bee shape, Sherlock looked at Lestrade, smiling. 

“Is there an actual case, Lestrade?” he asked.

“There was.‘The Case Of The Missing Friend’. We can have John write it up when he comes back.”

“We solved it? Where was this friend?” Sherlock asked, biting into another biscuit.

“Right there.” Greg said. As he pointed at Sherlock’s smile, he knew he was smiling, too.

OooOooO

So they were back to friends, Sherlock coming to the Yard, and taking over some cold cases. Then later going for fish and chips with Greg. Greg going by Baker Street, with take away and beer. Something was missing though. The looks, Sherlock rarely looked at him now. And the little touches, Sherlock sitting too close to him, or rubbing the edge of his jacket or his vest; those were gone without a trace. His name. Sherlock had gone back to calling him Lestrade. Greg missed Sherlock terribly, even when the man was right there.

“Guv, what’s going on?” Donovan asked one evening after coming back to the Yard one night after a case in which Sherlock had shined.

“With the suspect? Well he’ll be duly processed…”

“No boss...what’s with you and the… and Holmes? Something is not right there,” she commented.

“What do you mean? He’s consulting as always.” Greg replied.

“Nope, not as always. For a while there you two were chummy, like very chummy. As in ‘the Guv’s got a boyfriend’ chummy. Now both of you are sad, and he stares at you when you aren’t looking. So is it over? Are you on good terms, or should I start a CBO chain for him?”

“Sally, I have known Sherlock since he was a teenager. That’s all. I don’t know, he’s probably missing Dr. Watson.” he said, looking intently at the file in front of him.

“It’s not Watson who he stares at here, Sir. I think you should give yourself a chance. You seemed to work together, and I’m not talking about the job. Holmes really isn’t much of a freak since he came back and it’s in large part due to you.”

“Sally, you don’t even like Sherlock and Sherlock doesn’t like me like that. Pretty much a one track mind that one. Thanks for the concern, but it’s all fine.”

OooOooO

That look. That totally happy, conspiratorial look. As if the two of them knew something the others didn’t. That was the one that killed him. The one Sherlock was giving him now. 

The case was solved, of course, Sherlock had known the nephew was responsible for the lawsuits against the client’s luxury car shop. The young man had been very clever, starting by buying falsified replacement pieces, to fixing up old motors himself, then billing as if they had been new, original pieces. Had the man applied his smarts, he could have actually made himself quite a career as a mechanical engineer. As it was the young man had led the arresting officers and Sherlock on a merry chase. Of course, Sherlock had figured out where the suspect was running to and Lestrade and his people had been waiting close by. Now here he was, next to Greg telling him all about the chase and the grapple they had, the eventual arrest. Sherlock was still breathing heavy, his shirt pulled out of his trousers, buttons missing on the top, sweaty. So fucking sexy. And smiling with him. Now came the little nose scrunch. Greg was supposed to say something, then. 

“You were absolutely incredible Sherlock, well done you.” he said, and Sherlock smiled again. 

“Hmm. Peckish now...Din- would you like to eat? We can go to the chinese place.” suggested Sherlock, looking away.

“Yeah, sure. First the Yard though. Paperwork.”

“Ughh. When are you retiring again?” whinged Sherlock.

“Oooh boy. You’ll wait a long time for me!” answered Greg and heard a murmured “I hope not” as a response.

It had been a good dinner, good food, a pint each, animated conversation. When Greg left Sherlock at Baker Street, he patted his arm as goodbye, and Sherlock moved away quickly. Once he got home, Lestrade called that number again.

OooOooO

“So how is Toby?” Sherlock asked, feeling awkward, it wasn’t often he had lunch with Molly. He’d called about some samples and they’d both been close to the restaurant.

She laughed, “Toby the cat is fine! Tom, my fiance, is alright too.” Molly answered goodnaturedly. “Have you heard from John? Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

“He texts. Frequently. Told me he got badly sunburned falling asleep on the sand. Told me he had a bad stomach because of the food. Mary has been in scuba diving classes. They’re due back next week.”

Molly had been examining him critically. “You look well. You’re working cases with the Yard right? With Greg.”

“Mostly working with Mycroft on a case where the suspect is very careful. It is really not showing much progress. When there is something of interest from the Yard, then yes, I help out. The samples I gave you yesterday are to prove the suspect they arrested did not in fact poison his mother-in-law.”

“I see. Well it’s good to see you doing well. I was a bit worried about you working cases alone.” she said.

Sherlock took a deep breath. “Molly, were you ever in love before Tom?” he asked, and when she looked up, she gave him a look he could not understand.

“Yes. Yes, I was. Why?” Molly answered carefully.

“I wanted to ask. It’s a different scenario, but what is the best thing to do, if a person has feelings for someone that leaves, and someone else comes along? Someone that makes the person feel things, makes them feel alive again, but the person still feels loyal? Still has...feelings?... for the one that left?” Sherlock sighed. “This doesn’t even make sense, Molly, you don’t have to…”

“No, I got this. Believe me, you can move on. A person can find another that loves them. Even if the person spent a long time loving someone. Maybe that someone was important to them, but didn’t exactly return the person’s feelings. Maybe they couldn’t. Maybe they did, but the timing wasn’t good. So now the new someone should have a chance. Even if the person thinks they can’t ever forget the first love, if the new someone returns their love, treats them well and makes them happy, it’s worth a shot. The person could be surprised. Then the first “someone” can even become a friend.” Molly said smiling. She got up and said “Let’s go see about those samples, my friend.” 

Sherlock made sure he kept Molly’s advice safe for further consideration later. He still wanted to think about that look. He placed a different coloured folder with Molly’s name, on her desk in the lab of his Mind Palace.

OooOooO

At the morgue, Molly told Sherlock to wait for her to run to the lab for the samples he needed. Her assistant— Benjamin? — came up to him.

“Hello, Mr Holmes. How have you been?” he asked, and when Sherlock looked at him he saw an odd expression on the man’s face. 

“Working. How’s the job going for you?” Sherlock asked to see what this was about.

“Oh, it’s fine. Dr. Hooper is a very good boss. The work is entertaining enough. In fact, life is _quite_ good at the moment.” said Ben, that sly look still on his face. “Where’s your _— friend_ , Mr. Holmes?” he asked. 

Sherlock could not understand why the man was using that tone. It wasn’t flirty, though. What was it?

“DI Lestrade is most probably working at the Yard now,” he said. Right then Molly came back with the results, and Ben seemed to change his mind about what he was going to say. 

“Dr Hooper, I’m taking my break now, if that’s alright? Take care Mr Holmes, and say hello to _Greg_ for me, please.” he said.

OooOooO

“Mycroft, we got to stop meeting like this! Next time no need to kidnap me, just drop a call. To what do you owe the pleasure of my company?” Greg asked, in lieu of actually greeting Sherlock’s brother.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade. It seems you and my brother have developed a closer...friendship now that Dr Watson decided to marry the scintillating Miss Morstan. As his involvement in Sherlock’s cases is at the moment, uncertain, I wanted to ‘touch base’ with you, so to speak.”

“Alright, how can I help you?” Greg asked, looking at Mycroft and sprawling in the offered armchair.

Mycroft looked at the man. Cheeky and pretentious where the doctor was angry and direct. Lestrade knew Sherlock well, had worked with him for a long time and had intervened in favour of Sherlock on multiple occasions. Not bad.

“Inspector, I have asked my brother for help in a case against a media mogul. While I can’t disclose the details of the case right now, please be advised this person attracts other very dangerous elements. Some of them know us personally and in this case, that is not a good thing. I brought you here to ask you, if you have any influence at all over Sherlock, to advise him to not get involved beyond the scope of his current investigation and to exercise extreme caution while working this case.” Greg had sat up, worried. 

“I will do what I can, Mycroft, but shouldn’t you be talking to John? He’s Sherlock’s partner,” he said

“I doubt he will be involved in this case, Inspector. However, even if he is, my brother’s well being might not be his number one priority. It’s my brother’s life I’m concerned about. I dare not trust it to a man whose bride must be his top concern. You are a clever member of the Yard. You are in a unique position to help keep those you care about safe. Please tell me you will help protect my brother.” Mycroft asked, and he was completely sincere. Ideally he would have counted on John Watson, but with the man married, his relationship with Sherlock was badly fractured. The Detective Inspector was his only other hope. He was counting on his deduction skills and the security reports he had been reviewing. They told him both the Inspector’s and his brother’s feelings were taking root deeper than either man was aware of. 

“Yes, I will Mycroft. I will do everything in my power to keep him safe. You help me by calling or texting if you know of anything significant.”

“I will, Greg. Thank you.” With that, the meeting was over.

OooOooO

How was he supposed to keep a tornado safe? The man was a complete no show. Greg had tried texting Sherlock and gotten “-Case” and “-later” as answers and the laters never came. He did not care. Grown up consulting detectives who forgot life changing moments could well take care of themselves.

OooOooO

Sherlock had long conversations with both Lady Smallwood and Mycroft. His brother's involvement in the lady’s case seemed to have attracted the blackmailer, a journalist, Charles Agustus Magnussen. Even though Mycroft was being secretive, Sherlock had seen the blackmailer probably had something on his big brother. Not something personal, which would explain the cloak and dagger that seemed needed to work this case. 

Sherlock had called Magnussen and not gotten a return call, no response at all. Rude. He had various theories about that. He also thought the media mogul needed some bait, but none of Sherlock’s friends or family would like what he had in mind. He was convinced he had to let the man see a weakness, something Magnussen could use against him, for him to be willing to talk to Sherlock and therefore, allow him into his office, or if lucky, his house where he probably hid all blackmail related “proof”.

*He arrived at Greg’s a bit later than usual, having been lost in the Mind Palace for a while replaying a recent incident...and found the door locked. So, out working late. 

He used his picks to let himself in, he could order take away from inside, or see if there were the makings for tea and sandwiches. He heard movement, and a sound that stopped him in his tracks. A groan. Was Greg hurt? A muttered voice. What? He stepped quietly closer to the sounds. His heart started beating fast and he felt his stomach drop. He tiptoed close to the slightly open door of Greg’s bedroom. Sherlock watched as Greg got up from between another man’s legs. A man who moaned in protest. Sherlock’s eyes went directly to Greg’s body, so much fitter than his everyday appearance let on, golden skin, hairy chest, muscled arms. He was also, of course fully erect. Sherlock could have appreciated the view if he hadn’t been reeling with...hurt? The man on the bed rose up to kiss him. “Yes, yes, boy, I’m going to be so good to you.” said Greg. The man kissed Greg’s chest and Sherlock had to stifle a noise himself. How dare he!

“Now Greg, Now!” said the man and Sherlock recognized the voice, and the memory of that cocky smile made hot rage erupt inside him, and made him want to go to that bed and pull Ben off by his stupid hair. Now Greg pulled Ben closer to him, and applied lube to both himself and Ben. Sherlock should leave, should run away, or throw himself on Lestrade and beat him bloody. Instead, he stood there, frozen in place, hyperventilating, eyes glued to Greg, who had one hand on Ben’s leg, placing it over his shoulder, and the other hand on his own cock. Stroking himself. When Lestrade entered the man on the bed and he shouted, Sherlock had various emotions fighting inside him, the intensity of which scared him badly, rage, lust, jealousy and betrayal, threatening to tear him apart. 

Then Greg started fucking the man and Sherlock’s brain stopped. He raised his fist to his mouth, biting hard to keep quiet. As Ben yelled “yes, yes, Oh God!” Greg thrusted hard, almost brutally. He moved his hands over Ben’s body attentively, playing with his nipples, then caressing his arms, his belly and finally taking Ben’s cock in his hand and stroking it as he fucked him faster. Ben came first while Greg pulled Ben’s hips closer to him and thrust hard for a while and came with a grunt. Ben once more got up, this time kissing Greg’s mouth and it was a close thing, but Sherlock was able to stop himself from going after Ben for kissing the lips Sherlock had kissed first. 

All of this, it should have been with him! Sherlock had thought Greg had wanted him. He had felt it against his own body. Mistaken. Of course he hadn’t wanted Sherlock. He was never enough. Not enough for Lestrade, not enough for John. Obviously neither of them would ever choose him. He turned around, in a disgusting state of arousal, heading for the door cursing himself for dropping by, for looking into Greg’s room, for staying and watching the whole thing like a bloody pervert. Now as he walked towards the door, dazed, he forgot to be quiet, he forgot to pay attention and tripped over a moronic fold on the rug. Of course Lestrade, ministrations concluded, came out of the room, slipping on a vest and already in pajama bottoms. When he saw him, his face fell.

“Sherlock…” he started

“I … just... was going to leave… I won’t bother you again…” he stammered.

“Sherlock, shit, this, you weren’t supposed to... I’m so sorry.” Greg said, raising his hand to hold his arm.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” Sherlock hissed. “I wasn’t supposed to know about it? Do you think I was alarmed by the sex? Do you think I give a damn who you FUCK? Why would I when you will obviously do it with anyone but...”

Sherlock regained control of himself. He hurried out of the flat then ran down the street, into the tube station. Almost took the wrong train, stupid eyes were blurry. Moisture on his face, sniffles, people looking at him. The lighting hideous, the noises mocking him, his brain showing him Lestrade fucking Ben, while that bastard laughed at him. He got off at the station. Instead of following the people that were heading towards the street, and towards home, he hurried to the opposite side of the platform, went down the blackened steps and disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I’m sorry!! (Nope, not really. Mua-ha-haaa)  
> Next Chapter, following —and fixing—the events of S3, I get to touch up one of the scenes that truly bothered me. Sherlock gets to spend sometime away from it all. Lets just say he will not be alone, and the situation will be much more amenable than it was in this chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> How will Sherlock deal with John’s absence? John certainly has a different idea of what being a friend entails. Can Sherlock cope with it? Also, how can Greg help him? All coming up in the next chapter. I plan to post every Wednesday.
> 
> * My way of showing a text, as in  
> -Your place or mine? SH


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